HOLS 


r~«f 


QUIXSTAK. 


STAB 


A   NOVEL 


BY 

THE  AUTHOR   OF   "BLINDPITS 


NEW  YORK 

G.     P.     P  U  T  N  A  M'S     SONS 

4TH    AVENUE    AND    23n    STREET 

1873 


THE  MIDDLETON  8TEBEOTYPE   COMPANY, 
GBEENPOBT,   L.   I. 


LAXGE,  LITTLE   A  HILLMA.X, 

PEINTEE8, 

108  TO  114  WOOSTBB  STKKET,  N.  Y. 


QUIXSTAR. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IT  is  a  pretty  little  town  Quixstar^  and  knows  it — • 
or  at  least  if  you  could  suppose  a  town  guilty  of  affecta- 
tion, you  could  easily  think  that  Quixstar  sometimes 
tried  to  look  more  than  usually  interesting.  If  you 
looked  out  in  the  morning,  for  instance,  and  caught  all 
the  eastward  windows  flashing  back  the  sun's  rays  like 
the  eyes  of  a  young  beauty,  while  the  buildings  in  grey 
shadow  looked  on  with  a  kind  of  quiet  wonder,  as  a 
timid  chaperon  might  do,  alarmed  as  to  what  would 
happen  next;  or  at  twilight  of  a  summers  day,  when 
the  town  folded  its  hands  and  lay  back  in  its  arm-chair; 
or  by  moonlight,  when  its  very  smoke  seemed  to  be 
etherealized,  and  its  steeple  went  right  into  the  sky,  one 
bright  particular  star  standing  by  it,  so  near  that  the 
weathercock  might  have  scorched  his  wings ;  or  in  win- 
ter, when  it  wrapped  itself  in  ermine  to  the  throat — if 
you  watched — but,  indeed,  if  you  begin  to  watch  any 
person,  place,  or  thing,  you  will  soon  get  more  inter- 
ested than  you  are  aware  of,  and  Quixstar  was  really  an 
interesting  town,  worth  watching  at  almost  any  time. 
It  combined  compact  tidiness  with  old-fashioned  pictur- 
esqueness,  and  its  inhabitants  took  a  pride  in  it,  a  pride 
1 


Z  QUIXSTAR. 

which  threatened  the  stability  of  the  last-mentioned 
quality;  but  happily  it  is  easier  and  cheaper  to  keep 
things  going  as  they  are  than  to  make  sweeping  changes, 
so  that  a  native  of  Quixstar,  though  he  may  have  been 
absent  half  a  lifetime,  on  returning  will  see  little  differ- 
ence, except  that  the  clock  in  the  steeple  has  had  its 
face  and  hands  washed.  This  may  be  an  improvement ; 
but  he  will  miss  with  a  pang  the  familiar  old  weather- 
beaten  visage  that  so  often  told  him  whether  he  was  too 
late  for  school  or  not. 

The  town  is  small — so  small  that  every  inhabitant 
might  know  every  other  inhabitant,  might  know  of  his 
business,  his  habits,  his  affairs,  and  everything  that  is 
his.  Whether  this  is  to  be  reckoned  an  advantage  or 
a  drawback  depends  on  taste  and  temperament.  How- 
ever obscure  you  are,  you  may  be  somebody  in  Quix- 
star, and  that  is  something;  better  be  first  in — what  was 
the  place  ? — than  second  in  Rome ;  but  if  you  have  no 
fibre  of  Julius  Caesar  in  your  nature ;  if  you  would  like 
to  slip  through  life  like  a  knotless  thread  ;  if  you  have  the 
weakness  to  shrink  from  being  the  subject  of  critical  dis- 
section, then  give  Quixstar  and  its  co-towns  throughout 
the  empire  a  wide  berth. 

It  is  to  be  doubted  if  any  one  ever  gets  to  such  a 
pitch  of  apathy  as  to  take  absolutely  no  interest  in  his 
neighbor's  affairs;  but  when  you  have  arrived  at  the 
knowledge  that  men  and  women  in  civilized  life  wear 
much  the  same  sort  of  garments,  differing  a  little  in  tex- 
ture ;  that  what  is  in  one  man's  dining-room  is  in  another 
man's;  that  your  neighbor's  closets  are  filled  with  dupli- 
cates of  what  is  in  your  own,  and  that  ten  to  one  the  peo- 
ple round  you  are  as  well-behaved  as  yourself,  with  prob- 
ably a  sprinkling  of  rogues  to  carry  off  the  vices  of  the 
community,  as  the  lightning-rod  conducts  the  dangerous 


QTJIXSTAR.  3 

fluid  to  the  ground, — when  you  have  a  conviction  of  all 
this,  your  are  apt  to  get  out  of  bed  in  a  lazy  fashion ; 
you  dress,  saying,  Cui  bono  f  you  look  at  the  sun  in  the 
neavens,  and  say  there  is  nothing  new  under  it ;  in  short 
you  are  prepared  for  everything ;  the  emotion  of  surprise 
you  have  put  away  in  your  mental  garret  among  other 
obsolete  lumber,  and  if  you  ever  look  at  it  you  say, 
"  Oh,  that  reminds  me  of  long  ago."  It  is  very  satisfac- 
tory to  know  that  no  one  in  Quixstar  had  got  into  this 
melancholy  state ;  its  inhabitants  might  have  bounded 
out  of  bed  with  the  elasticity  of  india-rubber  balls,  if 
curiosity  would  have,  acted  as  a  brisk  motive  power. 
And  long  may  it  be  so !  How  many  people  can  rise  to 
even  an  occasional  contemplation  of  the  infinite,  and  if 
they  lose  their  interest  in  the  finite,  the  very  finite  of  the 
gossip  of  Quixstar,  what  is  to  become  of  them? — go 
mad  possibly,  or  sink  into  idiocy ;  if  they  could  only  keep 
to  what  is  lovely  and  of  good  report,  but  somehow  aver- 
age human  nature  is  so  prone  to  turn  up  the  seamy  side 
of  things. 

The  name  Quixstar  is  of  obscure  etymology.  In  old 
records  the  first  syllable  is  spelt  Cuick — a  word  from 
the  Celtic,  meaning  either  cuckoo  or  creek,  and  in  Latin 
it  has  been  written  Cuickstarlineum ;  but  the  modern 
orthography  is  Quixstar,  in  pronunciation  popularly  often 
reduced  to  Quixstir  or  Quicksir,  and  even  Quicker. 
The  cuckoo  still  haunts  the  glens,  where  the  river  runs 
that  on  its  journey  from  the  distant  hills  comes  wander- 
ing past  Quixstar ;  it  might  have  taken  a  more  direct 
road  to  its  destination,  but  time  being  no  object,  and 
trouble  as  little,  it  preferred  the  circuitous  one. 

The  Eden,  as  the  river — or  more  strictly  speaking, 
rivulet — was  called,  had  been  renowned  both  in  song 
and  story  before  it  reached  Quixstar,  but  like  the  truly 


4  QTJIXSTAR. 

great  it  went  on  its  way  doing  all  the  good  it  coulijj  as 
if  quite  unconscious  of  its  fame. 

Across  a  foot-bridge  from  the  town  there  stood  a 
small  building  known  as  "  The  Cottage."  One  morning 
it  was  told  throughout  Quixstar  that  the  Cottage  had 
changed  owners  —  had  been  sold  to  a  Mr.  Sinclair. 
Did  any  one  know  Mr.  Sinclair  ?  Who  was  he,  what 
was  he,  where  did  he  come  from  ?  Ere  long,  by  putting 
little  bits  of  information  together,  answers  to  these 
questions  leaked  out.  He  came  from  Ironburgh;  he 
was  a  merchant;  he  was  wealthy.  This  so  far  allayed 
the  public  hunger  for  a  time.  Then  it  was  seen  that  the 
Cottage  was  undergoing  a  metamorphosis ;  from  an  hum- 
ble one-storied  building  it  was  spreading  out  below,  and 
rising  above,  to  a  size  fitted,  as  advertisements  say,  to 
accommodate  a  genteel  family. 

The  house  nearest  the  Cottage,  on  the  same  side  of 
the  water,  and  only  divided  from  it  by  the  breadth  of  a 
road,  was  occupied  by  Mr.  Gilbert,  the  schoolmaster  of 
the  parish.  It  was  an  old  house  comparatively,  one" end 
of  it  covered  with  ivy  to  the  very  top — altogether  a 
leafy  bower,  with  an  old-fashioned  garden  sloping  to  the 
water's  edge,  but  separated  from  it  by  a  wall,  also  ivy- 
grown.  It  was  a  place  very  dear  to  Mrs.  Gilbert ;  she 
had  spent  all  her  married  life  there.  The  school  was 
on  the  other  side  of  the  water,  not  ten  minutes'  distant. 
Across  the  foot-bridge,  past  Peter  Veitch's  cottage,  and 
round  a  corner,  and  you  were  at  it,  and  in  the  middle 
of  one  side  of  the  town.  The  foot-bridge  spoken  of  was 
a  kind  of  private  property,  only  pretty  generally  used, 
but  there  was  another  bridge, — a  handsome  stone  arch 
of  recent  erection  replacing  a  very  old  structure.  The 
road  across  this  entered  at  the  head  of  the  town ;  above 
it  was  the  romantic  glen  of  the  Eden;  at  the  other  end 


QUIXSTAR.  5 

of  the  town  stretched  away  on  both  sides  of  the  river 
the  woods  of  Sir  Richard  Cranstoun.  In  point  of  situa- 
tion Quixstar  was  a  fortunate  little  town. 

An  old  family,  sitting  among  old  trees,  or  at  least  hav- 
ing a  seat  or  seats  in  the  middle  of  a  fine  array  of  leafy 
patriarchs,  is  to  be  thought  of  with  reverence.  Small 
people  or  simple  people  speak  of  such  a  family  as  if  it 
were  a  fetish  or  Grand  Llama,  and  if  its  members  have 
the  ability,  like  the  men  of  Issachar,  to  read  the  signs 
of  the  times,  and  to  read  them  aright,  they  are  in  their 
place  as  leaders  of  the  people ;  if  not,  they  are  like  the 
cocoon  out  of  which  the  life  has  gone :  the  spirit  of  the 
founder  may  still  be  winging  about  the  world,  but  they 
are  only  the  empty  shell.  The  Cranstouns  were  an  old 
family,  and  whether  they  kept  up  the  prestige  of  their 
ancestors  or  not,  it  is  certain  the  trees  did ;  they  had 
not  been  planted  yesterday,  and  it  may  give  a  slight 
clue  to  the  head  of  the  house  to  say  that  he  would  have 
heard  of  a  general  European  war  with  small  emotion 
compared  with  what  he  would  have  felt  had  it  been 
proposed  to  him  to  cut  down  one  of  his -majestic  vege- 
table pets.  And  really  it  would  have  been  a  pity  to  cut 
any  of  them  down,  the  creatures  were  so  beautiful,  and 
had  gladdened  the  eyes  of  so  many  generations :  stand- 
ing below  them,  you  felt  as  you  do  when  reading  a  work 
of  genius  that  has  lasted  some  hundreds  of  years.  You 
have  your  own  enjoyment,  and  you  think  of  the  enjoy- 
ment of  all  the  men  and  women  who  have  cried  and 
laughed  over  it,  and  it  is  too  much — you  hasten  away 
to  the  commonplace ;  it  is  the  expressed  essence  of  life, 
and  like  other  essences  a  small  dose  stimulates,  a  large 
one  leaves  you  stupefied  and  baffled.  In  case  hopes  may 
be  raised  that  this  "  old  family  "  are  to  appear  much  in 
this  story,  it  may  be  as  well  to  say  that  is  not  likely ; 


6  QTJIXSTAR. 

and  if  they  do,  the  reader  will  find  them  wonderfully 
like  a  new  family,  save  and  except  probably  some  prej- 
udices clinging  to  them,  as  a  chicken  sometimes  carries 
about  a  bit  of  its  shell,  which  will  adhere  and  make  it 
look  funny,  though  4t  is  not  aware  of  the  figure  it  cuts. 


CHAPTER  H. 

PETER  VEITCH,  whose  cottage  has  been  mentioned, 
was  a  well-known  inhabitant  of  Quixstar,  although  in 
humble  plight.  He  was  a  gardener,  not  restricted  to 
any  particular  spot,  but  having  a  fatherly  eye  on  many 
of  the  Quixstar  gardens.  In  spring  he  was  a  man  of 
consequence,  and  like  most  people  he  could  enjoy  that. 
His  services  were  in  great  demand.  Not  but  that  there 
were  other  gardeners  in  the  place,  who  would  under- 
take to  do  your  work  quicker,  cheaper,  and  even  better 
than  Peter,  and  leave  your  little  share  of  the  earth's  cir- 
cumference looking  beautifully  tidy  and  ship-shape,  till 
time  revealed  that  only  the  surface  had  been  scratched, 
the  weeds  refused  decent  burial,  the  manure  omitted, 
and  rubbish  sown  instead  of  seed.  It  was  then  that  you 
humbled  yourself  before  Peter  Veitch,  and  that  that  just 
man  showed  the  magnanimity  of  his  nature  by  not  crow- 
ing over  you  to  your  face — merely  laughing  in  his 
sleeve.  But  Peter  had  his  drawbacks :  he  liked  and 
took  his  own  way  rather  than  yours,  he 'worked  dili- 
gently and  conscientiously,  and  raised  good  crops,  though 
he  lacked  the  touch,  the  final  distinctive  touch  which  all 
great  artists,  in  whatever  line,  give  their  work.  You 
remember  Apelles  and  his  friend,  who  drew  lines,  in- 
stead of  leaving  cards  with  each  other — well,  Peter's 
eye  was  not  so  fastidious  as  it  might  have  been,  but  you 
can't  have  anything  perfect- in  this  world. 


8  QUIXSTAR. 

"Peter,1'  said  Mrs.  Gilbert,  while  standing  in  her 
garden,  looking  at  the  gardener  busy  at  work,  "  do  you 
know  anything  of  the  people  who  have  bought  the 
Cottage  ?  It  is  said  they  are  rich." 

"  Ay,"  said  Peter,  stopping  with  his  foot  in  rest,  and 
his  body  leaning  on  the  top  of  his  spade.  "  Oh  ay,  he's 
a  man  wi'  a  mint  o'  siller." 

"  A  retired  merchant  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Gilbert. 

"  He  made  it  in  the  snuff  and  tobacco  line  in  Iron- 
burgh,  they  tell  me.  It  maun  be  a  better  job  than  delv- 
ing, I'm  thinking." 

"  More  lucrative,  Peter,  but  not  so  honorable  or 
pleasant,  surely.  You'll  be  expecting  to  be  at  work  in 
the  Cottage  garden  immediately  ?  " 

"  Weel,  like  eneuch;  but,  odd,  there's  little  pleasure 
working  to  thae  retired  bodies;  they're  extraordinary 
maggoty,  and  they  aye  think  they  ken  a'  thing." 

"  And,  Peter — this  new-comer,  what's  his  name  ?  r> 

"  Sinclair — Adam  Sinclair,  Esquire." 

"  I  daresay  I  heard  that ;  well,  I  hope  he'll  be  a  good 
neighbor." 

"  It's  a  question — time'll  tell,  but  I  hae  nae  notion  o' 
thae  retired  bodies  wi'  naething  to  do.  Of  course  the 
like  o'  me  working  in  a  yard  is  here  the  day  and  away 
the  morn,  but  I  whiles  pity  their  women-folk,  they've  a 
heap  to  pit  up  wi'." 

"  But,  Peter,  I  understand  this  man  is  a  bachelor,  so 
his  women-folk  won't  be  afflicted." 

••  Ah,  is  he  ? "  said  Peter,  with  the  sudden  interest 
begotten  by  a  new  fact,  "  weel,  he's  no  like  to  be  the 
easier  dune  wi'  for  that,  unless  he's  a  sleepy-headed 
dreamy  kind  o'  body,  and  that's  no  likely,  as  he's  rich, 
and  it  takes  a'  folk's  senses  to  keep  siller  in  this  world, 
forby  to  mak'  it,"  and  Peter  began  to  use  his  spade 


QUIXSTAR.  9 

again,  for  though  a  crack  was  one  of  his  prime  luxuries, 
he  had  a  sound  conscience. 

Standing  there  in  her  own  garden,  Mrs.  Gilbert  was 
a  noble-looking  woman.  Time,  and  maybe  circum- 
stances, were  beginning  to  tell  on  her  fair  face ;  there 
was  a  look  of  care  in  it,  and  lines  were  where  as  yet 
lines  need  not  have  been,  but  it  was  a  noble  face,  not  a 
face  that  you  could  tire  of.  Mr.  Gilbert  has  been  heard 
to  say  that  it  was  not  his  wife's  beauty  that  attracted 
him, — that  it  was  some  time,  indeed,  before  he  knew 
that  she  was  good-looking,  which  blindness  might  be 
satisfactory  to  him,  as  indicating  that  he  was  above  be- 
ing taken  by  such  an  empty  thing  as  beauty;  but  made 
one  regret  that  so  very  good  a  thing  should  have  been 
thrown  away.  When  you  see  a  good,  or  beautiful,  or 
noble  thing,  you  feel  it  should  be  put  to  some  noble  use, 
although  the  better  and  nobler  a  human  being  is,  the 
more  willing  will  he  be  to  do  any  kind  of  work  that  falls 
in  his  way.  It  might  be  a  matter  of  speculation  what 
Mrs.  Gilbert  would  have  been  and  done  had  she  been  a 
queen,  or  the  wife  of  a  great  man,  which  Mr.  Gilbert 
was  not,  or  the  directress  of  a  religious  community, 
though  it  probably  never  crossed  her  mind  that  she  was 
not  in  her  right  place  ;  but  surely  there  must  have  been 
times  when  Mr.  Gilbert  could  not  help  feeling  as  if  he 
should  put  off  his  shoes,  for  the  place  where  she  stood 
was  holy  ground — at  least  one  would  think  so,  but  you 
never  can  tell.  It  can't  be  a  pleasant  thing  for  a  man  to 
be  overshadowed  by  his  wife's  superiority;  if  they  can, 
people  are  apt  to  shirk  what  is  not  pleasant ;  it  must 
need  a  small  mind  or  a  great  one  to  sit  down  content- 
edly under  it,  and  if  the  mind  is  great  enough  to  feel 
contented  in  such  circumstances,  that  proves  equalif 
at  least,  so  that  your  premise  is  gone. 
I* 


10  QUIXSTAR. 

Mrs.  Gilbert's  father  had  been  a  draper  in  a  country 
town,  to  which  Mr.  Gilbert  chanced  to  come  as  assistant 
teacher.  They  met,  and  the  result  was,  that  they  married 
and  settled  in  Quixstar,  where  Mr.  Gilbert  seemed  to  be 
in  his  right  enough  place;  but  Mrs.  Gilbert  reminded 
you  of  a  beautiful  flower  in  a  small  flower-pot,  where  it 
had  not  room  to  develop  in  .luxuriance.  The  draper 
had  another  daughter,  who  at  the  same  time  went 
through  the  same  process  as  her  sister  and  the  teacher, 
with  a  young  man  in  an  ironmonger's  shop — Raeburn 
by  name.  They  settled  in  Ironburgh,  where,  in  the 
iron  trade,  Mr.  Raeburn  in  not  many  years  grew  rich. 
The  Gilberts  had  three  children,  a  boy  and  two  girls ; 
the  Raeburns  had  seven,  all  boys.  Commonly  the  small 
income  has  the  larger  number  of  olive  -  branches  at- 
tached to  it ;  here,  for  once,  to  the  non-parental  eye, 
things  seemed  as  they  should  be. 

Mrs.  Raeburn  was  a  little  pretty-faced  woman,  whose 
attempts  at  authority  in  her  own  family  were  generally 
swamped  ;  indeed,  to  hear  her  speak  you  would  at  times 
have  thought  she  regarded  her  children  as  her  natural 
enemies,  while  she  showered  a  weak  fondness  on  them 
to  which  they  did  not  always  submit  with  a  good  grace 
— for  they  were  fine  manly  boys,  hasting  to  get  out  of 
her  presence,  and  let  the  superfluous  steam  off  in  some 
way.  Likely  you  are  prepared  to  hear  that  Mr.  Rae- 
burn was  an  uneducated,  vulgar,  purse-proud  man,  whose 
house  was  crammed  to  the  door  with  fine  furniture,  and 
its  walls  covered  from  floor  to  ceiling  with  pictures  in 
gaudy  frames — one  who  put  on  airs  of  patronage  among 
his  less  prosperous  connexions,  and  audibly  wondered 
tow  they  could  exist  on  such  incomes  as  they  had. 
That  was  not  the  kind  of  man  he  was  at  all ;  but  if  he 
somes  into  this  story  now  and  then  we  shall  see  for  our- 


QUIXSTAR.  11 

selves  what  he  was.  The  brothers-in-law  were  as  com- 
plete contrasts  as  their  wives.  If  you  could  have  changed 
Mrs.  Raeburn  into  Mrs.  Gilbert,  and  Mrs.  Gilbert  into 
Mrs.  llaeburn,  you  would  have  felt  that  you  had  made 
nearly  a  perfect  arrangement.  Mr.  Gilbert  would  have 
been  as  happy,  probably  happier,  with  a  pretty-faced, 
weakish  woman ;  and  Mr.  Raeburn,  though  he  loved  his 
wife,  and  was  in  a  measure  blind  to  her  failings,  would 
have  found  life  a  different  thing  passed  alongside  such 
a  woman  as  Mrs.  Gilbert ;  and  for  Mrs.  Gilbert,  why,  she 
would  have  been  in  the  big  flower-pot.  We  know  that 
Jove  gave  men  the  sunshine  and  the  rain  into  their  own 
hands  to  make  the  best  of  them,  and  they  were  glad  in 
a  short  time  to  beg  him  to  take  them  back  again ;  so  per- 
haps you  and  I  might  not  have  made  a  much  better  thing 
of  it  supposing  we  had  superintended  the  courtships  of 
these  four  people ;  and  as  it  is  likely  they  themselves 
were  well  enough  pleased  with  existing  arrangements, 
we  must  try  to  be  so  too,  although  it  seems  impossible 
to  prevent  a  kind  of  unconscious  irritation  in  the  pres- 
ence of  what  we  think  unfitness,  anymore  than  a  feeling 
of  rest  and  enjoyment  in  the  beauty  of  fitness. 

It  would  appear  that  the  people  of  this  history  be- 
long to  the  middle  class,  possibly  even  to  what  is  called 
the  lower  middle  class,  that  unfortunate  section  of  so- 
ciety around  which  it  is  so  difficult  to  throw  an  interest. 
If  they  had  happened  to  belong  to  the  upper  ten  thou- 
sand, among  whom  there  enters  nothing  that  is  mean  or 
sordid,  nor  any  finely-moulded  falsehood,  nor  even  a 
soupcon  of  naughtiness,  except  by  way  of  piquant  sauce 
to  so  exquisite  a  dish,  then  indeed  the  reader  might  find 
something  to  reward  his  trouble ;  or  if  they  had  been 
among  picturesque  poverty,  having  a  ruffian  boldly  dashed 
in  with  ochre  and  lampblack ; — but  a  retired  tobacconist, 


12  QtTIXSTAR. 

a  man  who  had  prospered  in  the  iron  trade,  and  a  coun- 
try schoolmaster !  But  we  need  not  read  the  book,  or 
we  may  imitate  Transatlantic  ingenuity,  which  by  means 
of  any  number  of  jackscrews  raises  a  whole  block  of 
houses  from  a  low  situation  to  a  high  one,  without  the 
inhabitants  being  the  least  aware  of  what  is  doing.  Put 
in  the  jackscrews  of  your  imagination,  change  the  acces- 
sories, and  the  people  will  do  in  high  life ;  or  dig  a  hole 
and  sink  them  among  dirt  and  squalor,  and  still  you  will 
find  the  same  human  nature ;  but  the  easiest  plan  is  not 
to  read  any  further. 

The  inevitable  minister,  too,  bids  fair  to  be  inevita- 
ble, for  you  can  hardly  have  a  parish  schoolmaster  with- 
out a  parish  minister,  and  whom  John  Knox  has  joined 
together  it  would  be  presumption  to  put  asunder.  The 
minister  of  Quixstar  was  not  a  perfect  man  any  more 
than  the  schoolmaster,  -  Considerable  excuses  should  be 
made  for  him,  however;  he  was  fifty  years  old,  and  dur- 
ing all  that  time  he  had  been  most  atrociously  healthy. 
We  have  all  heard  of  the  great  blessing  of  a  sound  mind 
in  a  sound  body,  which  it  undeniably  is;  but  I  have 
known  sound  minds  that  one  would  not  have  grudged 
getting  a  trial  of  rickety  lodgings  now  and  then.  If  you 
have  a  spirit  finely  touched,  and  with  insight,  it  will  do  in 
the  very  soundest  body,  but  there  are  spirits  which — to 
use  an  Irishism- — only  feel  when  their  own  personal  flesh 
is  pinched.  Mr.  Kennedy  might  have  felt,  for  he  was 
not  without  his  share  of  affliction ;  his  wife  wras  a  con- 
firmed invalid,  seldom  or  never  seen  or  heard  of — that 
is,  people  spoke  about  her  as  they  will  about  anything, 
but  she  was  set  aside  entirely  from  active  life.  It  was 
said  that  her  disease  aflTected  her  mental  faculties  in 
some  degree.  Be  that  as  it  may ;  we  leave  the  curtain 
that  shut  her  in  from  the  world  reverently  unlifted. 


QUIXSTAR.  13 

Though  profoundly  sorry  for  the  poor  woman,  and 
awed  by  a  sense  of  the  mystery  of  suffering,  it  is  not  to 
be  regretted  that  it  is  unnecessary  to  speak  of  the  min- 
ister's wife ;  she  might  have  been  a  good-natured  woman, 
toiling  at  the  business  of  being  very  agreeable"to  every 
one,  or,  if  not  very  good-natured,  to  those  only  to  whom 
it  was  necessary  or  expedient  to  be  so;  or  a  coarse- 
grained nature,  whose  style  of  sympathy  made  you 
shrink;  or  she  might  have  been  feeble,  or  common- 
place, or  intermeddling — any  of  these  characters  would 
have  been  easily  drawn,  but  they  would  have  been  un- 
pleasant, and  if,  as  Peter  Veitch  would  say,  "  A  minis- 
ter is  an  ill  craw  to  shoot  at,"  his  wife  is  not  a  better 
mark ;  or  she  might  have  been  a  good  woman,  and  the 
goodness  of  a  good  woman  is  an  atmosphere  which,  when 
you  can  describe  the  incense  sent  up  by  the  sweetbriar 
after  a  summer  evening  shower,  you  may  hope  to  de- 
scribe. This  style  of  goodness  belonged  to  Mrs.  Gil- 
bert, but  how  is  it  to  be  put  on  paper  ?  Mr.  Kennedy 
was  kind  and  attentive  to  his  wife,  but  not  crushed  by 
her  affliction ;  on  the  contrary,  he  bore  up  under  it  well. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  MAX  without  women-folk  in  some  shape  is,  in  Great 
Britain,  at  this  moment,  nearly  an  impossibility.  Here 
and  there  in  the  southern  hemisphere,  no  doubt,  there  are 
huts  in  which,  if  you  were  to  enter,  you  would  find  a  man 
— a  man,  too,  who  may  have  "moved  hi  the  best  so- 
ciety " — paring  potatoes  for  his  dinner,  or  washing  his 
clothes,  or  baking  damper,  with  a  face  so  overgrown 
with  hair  that  his  mother  would  not  know  him.  In  wri- 
ting home  he  will  tell  he  is  seeing  life,  and  how  jolly  it 
is,  how  free  from  conventionalism,  and  all  that.  Well, 
we  will  respect  his  privacy  when  the  big  salt  drops  fall 
on  the  long  rough  beard,  and  the  word  "  banishment  " 
rises  to  his  lips  as  he  yearns  for  the  music  of  a  woman's 
voice,  and  the  deft  ministrations  of  her  hand.  How 
often  has  he  twisted  up  the  end  of  that  worsted  thread 
and  tried  to  get  it  through  the  eye  of  his  darning- 
needle  !  He  remembers  his  mother  had  no  difficulty  in 
threading  a  darning-needle — and  he  flings  it  down  with 
a  smile  and  a  tear ;  but  be  sure  he  enjoys  this  life — no 
conventionality  and  no  humbug ! 

Mr.  Sinclair,  living  in  the  heart  of  Scotland,  could 
not  keep  house  in  this  style.  His  household  goods  ar- 
rived in  charge  of  two  women-servants  and  several  up- 
holsterer's men,  and  it  was  soon  known  that  he  himself 
would  shortly  appear.  Like  Mr.  Kennedy,  Mr.  Sinclair 
was  a  man  of  fifty,  possibly  a  year  or  two  more.  It  is  no 


QUIXSTAK.  15 

use  saying  whether  that  is  old  or  young ;  hale  gentlemen 
of  seventy  will  think  he  was  barely  in  his  prime,  while 
the  youth  of  twenty-one  will  consider  that  he  was  in  ex- 
treme old  age.  He  had  been  a  wholesale  tobacconist, 
and  he,  or  at  least  his  ancestors,  had  owned  also  a  retail 
shop.  There  were  people  in  Quixstar  who  had  seen  it, 
and  the  Highlander  that  stood  over  its  door, — the  finger 
and  thumb  of  one  hand  holding  a  pinch  within  an  inch  of 
his  nose,  while  the  other  extended  the  friendly  box  to 
an  invisible  acquaintance.  These  things  were  against 
Mr.  Sinclair  ;  still,  he  was  reputed  to  be  so  rich  that  the 
gentility  of  Quixstar  felt  they  could  hardly  overlook 
him  if  he  were  at  all  presentable.  The  next  thing 
known  was  that  letters  came  to  the  post-office  address- 
ed Adam  Sinclair,  Esq.,  -Old  Battle  House,  Quixstar. 
Where  was  Old  Battle  House  ?  Had  Mr.  Sinclair  re- 
baptized  the  Cottage,  asked  an  amused  public  ?  Yes, 
he  had  done  that,  as  he  had  a  right  to  do.  He  said  to 
himself,  there  might  be  fifty  Quixstars,  each  having  a 
hundred  Cottages— the  name  was  vague  and  indefinite, 
and  did  not  sound  well.  Remains  had  been  dug  up 
which  attested  that  at  some  remote  period  a  battle  had 
been  fought  in  the  neighborhood ;  he  detested  cottages, 
lodges,  and  villas ;  a  man's  house  was  his  house,  so  he 
changed  the  name  of  the  Cottage  to  Old  Battle  House 
— and  it  was  ingenious,  it  must  be  allowed  ;  if  there  had 
been  a  lady  in  the  case  one  would  have  given  her  the 
credit  of  it.  -  Very  soon  his  figure  was  as  well  known 
on  the  roads  as  that  of  the  minister  or  the  rural  police- 
man. 

Mr.  Sinclair  was  lonely,  or  presumed  to  be  so ;  there 
is  no  doubt  at  least  that  he  was  alone  in  his  own  house, 
so  far  as  companionship  is  concerned,  but  probably  that 
did  not  distress  him.  It  has  been  said  that  every  human 


16  QUIXSTAR. 

being  has  a  history,  and  if  that  history  could  be  faithfully 
told  it  would  be  profoundly  interesting.  But  there  are  his- 
tories and  histories,  and  to  talk  of  their  being  faithfully 
told  is  to  talk  of  being  omniscient,  and  further,  of  being 
omnipotent.  To  know  what  is  true,  and  to  be  able  to 
tell  it,  even  in  the  puny  measure  that  men  may  know  and 
tell,  has  been  a  power  in  all  ages,  a  power  which  men 
have  called  genius,  and  which  has  been  but  charily  dis- 
tributed. Mr.  Sinclair  may  have  had  a  very  interesting 
history,  but  it  is  not  given  to  me  to  tell  it ;  I  don't  know 
it ;  I  know  nothing  of  him  before  he  came  to  Quixstar,  and 
only  the  outsides  of  his  life  after  he  did  come.  His  inner 
being  may  have  been  like  Vesuvius — in  a  state  of  up- 
heaval every  now  and  then,  but  if  it  was  it  never  boiled 
over.  He  was  always  like  himself,  very  like  himself,  and 
in  his  own  way  appeared  to  enjoy  life ;  in  his  own  way, 
for  he  had  a  way  of  his  own. 

It  is  good  merely  to  see  a  man  enjoy  life.  The 
dreary  people  are  supposed  to  be  the  people  of  finest 
fibre,  and  generally  they  are  of  curiously  fine  fibre  as 
concerns  their  own  feelings;  but  give  me  the  cheery 
man,  who,  if  he  has  sorrows — as  who  has  not  ? — hides 
them  and  shows  a  brave  face.  There  is  real  courage  in 
that,  and  the  very  doing  of  it  strengthens  not  only  him- 
self but  his  fellow-creatures. 

Although  he  lived  alone,  Mr.  Sinclair  was  not  with- 
out relations,  with  whom  he  interchanged  occasional 
visits  and  letters.  Mrs.  Thomas  Sinclair,  the  widow  of 
a  brother,  was  the  person  who  kept  up  the  closest  cor- 
respondence with  him.  She  wrote  frequent  and  very 
long  letters,  so  long  that  he  often  did  not  read  them  fur- 
ther than  to  gather  their  general  import,  and  when  he 
answered  them  it  was  in  the  style  of  the  people  who  ad- 
vertise at  the  rate  of  eighteen  words  for  a  sixpence.  If 


QUIXSTAK.  17 

brevity  is  the  soul  of  wit,  Mr.  Sinclair's  letters  to  his  sis- 
ter-in-law were  about  the  wittiest  things  that  passed 
through  the  post-office.  But  as  Mrs.  Sinclair  remarked, 
"  It  was  quite  Adam's  way ;  old  bachelors  get  so  pecu- 
liar." 

Peculiar  or  not,  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  conceived  a  bold 
idea — she  determined  to  go  with  her  children  and  take 
up  her  abode  at  Old  Battle  House,  and  she  told  her  in- 
tention to  all  her  acquaintance,  except  her  brother-in- 
law,  the  person  most  interested,  one  would  think. 

"  Mr.  Sinclair,"  she  explained  to  her  friends,  "  is  no 
doubt  peculiar,  but  I  think  we'll  be  a  great  benefit  to 
him.  A  house  without  a  lady  is  always  dull,  and  the 
children  will  make  it  .quite  a  home  for  him,  and  if  he 
were  so  inclined,  he  might  in  some  sort  supply  a  father's 
place  to  my  poor  children.  I  am  told  there  is  a  good 
school  in  Quixstar,  which  would  do  for  Tom;  if  he 
turns  out  a  great  man,  it  will  be  nice  to  say  in  his  biog- 
raphy, '  This  eminent  man  was  first  sent  to  school  at  the 
small  picturesque  town  of  Quixstar'  (although,  to  be 
sure,  he  has  been  at  school  a  good  while  already) ;  '  the 
good  old  schoolmaster  still  survives  to  enjoy  the  celebri- 
ty of  his  pupil.'  Indeed,  if  there  was  a  primitive  old 
woman  in  the  place,  I  would  like  to  send  him  to  her  for 
a  little,  if  he  were  not  so  big;  a  great  man  beginning 
his  career  at  a  dame-school  has  such  a  very  nice  effect. 
I  remember  remarking  this  to  his  papa,  who  was  struck 
with  the  idea,  and  thought  it  good.  There  are  the  girls, 
to  be  sure ;  but  I  am  told  girls  attend  the  school  at 
Quixstar  as  well  as  boys — girls  of  the  humbler  order 
probably,  but  I'll  see ;  I  could  even  take  them  in  my 
own  hand  for  a  time  if  I  found  it  necessary ;  and  do  you 
know,"  she  proceeded  in  a  slightly  more  confidential  tone, 
"  I  consider  it  altogether  in  the  light  of  a  duty  to  go  to 


18  QUIXSTAR. 

Quixstar  ?  Mr.  Sinclair  has  I  doubt  been  rather  unfortu- 
nate in  his  feminine  acquaintance  ;  at  least  his  ideas  of 
women  are  low ;  he  always  speaks  as  if  a  respectable  ser- 
vant who  knew  her  work,  and  did  it,  was  the  highest 
type  of  woman  ;  now  you  can  easily  imagine  that  when 
he  is  a  little  older,  a  designing  woman  of  that  class  might 
have  little  difficulty  in  getting  round  him ;  indeed,  he  is 
quite  the  style  of  man  to  wind  up  by  marrying  his  cook 
or  housekeeper,  and  if  I  can  prevent  that  I'll  not  think 
I  have  made  a  sacrifice  in  vain." 

It  seems  a  pity  sometimes  that  people  should  not  be 
aware  of  all  the  kind  things  that  are  said  and  thought  of 
them ;  and  it  is  a  pity,  but  let  us  be  thankful  that  we 
don't  hear  the  other  class  of  remarks.  Imagine  Mr. 
Sinclair  hearing  one  woman  overhauling  him  to  another 
in  this  fashion !  It  is  to  be  feared  his  opinion  of  the  sex 
would  not  have  been  greatly  raised. 

Mrs.  Sinclair  wrote  to  her  brother-in-law,  offering  a 
visit,  and  he,  ignorant  of  the  benevolence  of  her  inten- 
tions, told  her  by  all  means  to  come.  Thus  matters 
stood  till  circumstances  precipitated  Mrs.  Sinclair's 
arrival. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MA.GDALEST  FAIRGREVE,  or  Maddy,  as  she  was  gen- 
erally called,  was  what  is  known  as  a  "  faithful  servant." 
She  had  been  a  faithful  servant  to  Mrs.  Sinclair  ever 
since  that  lady's  marriage,  and  something  more — there 
was  a  kind  of  Mrs.  Morley  and  Mrs.  Freeman  relation- 
ship between  them.  Many  times  the  lady  had  thought 
of  dismissing  her  faithful  servant,  if  she  could  have  been 
sure  of  getting  another  who  would  look  as  well  to  her 
interests,  which  she  was  very  far  from  being ;  besides, 
an  old  attached  servant  was  a  respectable  thing  in  a 
house,  and  when  Tom  was  a  great  man  she  would  tell 
anecdotes  of  his  childish  days,  and  figure  in  the  biogra- 
phy alongside  of  the  schoolmaster.  At  this  date  Maddy 
was  not  old,  although  she  had  been  so  long  in  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair's service.  Notwithstanding  a  strong  will,  and  a 
tough,  not  very  fine,  nature,  her  feelings  towards  her 
mistress  and  _the  children  were  genuine  and  unselfish, 
and  that  is  more  than  could  be  said  of  her  mistress's 
feelings  to  her. 

With  the  weakness  which  thinks  to  gain  strength 
from  mystery,  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  said  nothing  of  the  pro- 
posed removal  to  her  attached  servant,  but  the  air  of 
the  house  told  Maddy  something  was  astir;  she  soon 
found  out  what,  and  resolved  to  go  to  Quixstar  herself, 
and  come  back  mistress  of  the  situation — the  more,  as 
she  had  an  old  friend  there. 


20  QUIXSTAR. 

A  branch  railway  runs  right  into  Quixstar  now,  but 
at  that  time  it  thought  itself  well  off  to  be  within  some 
miles  of  a  station.  Maddy  was  an  entire  stranger  in 
Quixstar,  and  she  had  never  chanced  even  to  see  Mr. 
Sinclair,  as,  being  trustworthy,  she  was  generally  left  at 
home  when  her  family  paid  visits.  She  left  the  train, 
and  walked  leisurely  on  till  she  came  to  the  village,  look- 
ing ridiculously  quiet  and  pretty  and  picturesque,  lying 
in  the  haugh  below  the  summer  afternoon  sunshine. 
She  met  some  "  urchins  just  let  loose  from  school,"  and, 
pointing  to  Old  Battle  House,  the  first  building  that 
caught  her  eye,  she  asked  what  house  that  was. 

"  Spleuchan  Ha',"  said  one  of  them  without  an  in- 
stant's hesitation. 

"  Spleuchan  Ha',  bairn !  nobody  ever  ca'ed  a  place 
that,"  said  Maddy. 

"  'That's  what  it's  ca'ed  hereabout,  ony  way." 

"  But  it's  a  nickname — who  lives  in't  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Sinclair." 

"  And  what's  the  right  name  o't  ?  " 

"  Spleuchau  Ha',  I'm  telling  ye,  and  if  ye  dinna  like 
to  believe  me,  ye  can  chap  at  the  door  and  speer." 

"  Gallant,  I  wonder  where  ye  learn  so  muckle  impu- 
dence in  a  place  like  this  ?  " 

"  We're  no  in  impudence  yet,  mem ;  but  maybe  the 
maister'll  put  us  into  it  soon,"  and  he  looked  in  Maddy's 
face  with  a  sleepish  simplicity,  but  with  a  tell-tale  glit- 
ter in  his  eye. 

"  Ye  little  birkie,"  said  she,  "  ye'll  either  mak'  a  spoon 
or  spoil  a  horn  some  day,  or  I'm  mista'en — what's  your 
name  ?  " 

"  John  Graham,"  said  he,  winking  to  the  troop  that 
tarried  for  him. 

"  Rin  away  then,  and   there's  a  penny  to  ye,  an'  see 


QUIXSTAR.  21 

if  ye  can  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head."  The  boy 
looked  abashed  at  this  returning  of  good  for  evil,  said 
"  Thank  ye,""  and  was  off,  skimming  the  ground,  to  tell 
his  luck  to  the  rest. 

Maddy  looked  after  him,  and  said  to  herself,  "  A  bit 
fine  sharp  laddie — he'll  just  be  about  ages  wi'  our 
Tommy;  "  for  in  this  familiar  way  did  she  name  the  in- 
cipient subject  of  the  biography,  although  her  mistress 
had  been  at  pains  to  teach  her  a  very  different  style  of 
address. 

After  a  little  inquiry,  Maddy  knocked  at  the  door 
of  Peter  Veitch's  cottage.  Mrs.  Veitch,  who  opened  it, 
looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  then  exclaimed,  "  Maddy 
Fairgrieve  !  wha  wad  hae  thought  to  see  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  expected  ye  wadna  ken  me,  Jess." 

"  Ken  ye  !  I  wad  hae  kent  ye  if  I  had  met  ye  on  the 
tap  o'  Arthur's  Seat." 

"  Weel,  I  wadna  been  so  surprised  at  ye  kennin'  me 
there ;  it's  a  place  that's  no  unco  thick  o'  folk  on  ordi- 
nar'  occasions." 

Soon  after  Peter  senior  came  in,  and  Miss  Fairgrieve 
explained  that  she  was  thinking  of  coming  to  reside  in 
Quixstar. 

"  No  possible  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Veitch ;  "  are  ye  gaun 
to  be  married,  Maddy  ?  " 

"  Na,  na,  no  sae  fast,"  said  Maddy. 

"  Fast ! "  said  Peter,  "  I  dinna  think  there  wad  be 
ony  fastness  in't ;  ye've  ta'en  time  eneuch  to  think  about 
it,  ony  way." 

"  She's  very  right,  Peter,"  said  his  wife. 

"  Then  if  she's  right,"  said  Peter,  "  ye  was  wrang, 
Jess." 

"  Weel,  I'll  no  say  but  I  was." 

"  Ay,"  said  Peter,  "  women's  hearts  are  aye  in  the 


22  QUIXSTAR. 

road  o'  their  heads,  and  I'll  no  say  it's  an  ill  arrange- 
ment." 

"  A  first-rate  arrangement  for  your  wife  there,  that 
has  the  use  o'  the  head  on  your  shouthers,  but  what 
comes  o'  the  like  o'  me  ?  " 

"  Ye  may  say  that,  Maddy,"  said  Mrs.  Veitch. 

At  this  juncture  the  door  opened,  and  a  pair  of  wild, 
bright  eyes  peered  in.  "  Come  away,  laddie,"  said  Mrs. 
Veitch  to  her  youngest  born,  "  and  get  your  parritch, 
they'll  be  clean  cauld. — Ye'll  no  ken  this  ane,  Maddy  ?  " 

;<  Ay,  I  ken  him. — Come  away,  Johnnie." 

"  Johnnie ! "  said  Peter  senior,  "  we  dinna  ca'  him 
Johnnie,  he's  my  name-son." 

"  He  tell't  me  that  his  name  was  John  Graham,'' 
said  Maddy. 

"  Peter,"  said  his  father  sternly,  "  did  ye  tell  a  lee  ?  " 

"  No  ;  onybody  wad  hae  kenned  I  was  jokin',  and  I 
was  vext  after — she  gied  me  a  penny." 

"  Sic  nonsense,  Maddy,"  to  his  visitor ;  then  to  his 
son,  "  A  lee's  nae  joke,  and  I'll  gie  ye  a  lickin'  that'll 
help  ye  to  mind  that." 

"  Hout,  Peter,"  said  Mrs.  Veitch,  "  let  the  laddie  be, 
and  he'll  just  gang  to  his  bed  wantin'  his  supper." 

"  I'm  awfu'  hungry,  mother,"  said  the  urchin ;  "  I'll 
tak'  the  lickin'." 

"  Weel,  get  yer  parritch,  and  I'll  wait,"  said  his 
father. 

"  Na ;  I'll  hae  my  licks  first,  and  that'll  be  ae  gude 
job  ower,"  said  the  youngster,  repeating  a  pet  phrase 
of  his  father's.  Now,  who  was  ever  impervious  to  the 
delicate  flattery  of  hearing  either  his  wit  or  his  wisdom 
quoted,  especially  by  a  favorite  son  ? 

"  Weel,  I'll  let  ye  off  for  this  time,"  said  his  father ; 
"  but  mind,  Peter,  if  ever  I  hear  o'  ye  tellin'  a  lee  again, 


QtTIXSTAK,  23 

yell  hae  reason  no'  to  forget  it — it's  an  awfu'  thing  to 
tell  lees." 

Young  Hopeful  sat  down,  and  drawing  his  bicker  to 
him,  began  shovelling  porridge  and  milk  into  his  mouth 
with  great  alacrity  and  neatness.  He  finished  his  sup- 
per in  silence,  then  coaxed  the  cat  to  him,  and  began 
rubbing  its  fur  the  wrong  way  for  purposes  of  experi- 
ment, till  his  mother  told  him  "  to  gie  ower  tormenting 
the  puir  beast." 

Then  Maddy  told  how  she  had  been  a  servant  with 
Mrs.  Sinclair  ever  since  that  lady  was  married,  how  Mr. 
Sinclair  of  Old  Battle  House  was  her  mistress's  brother- 
in-law,  and  how  Mrs.  Sinclair  and  family  were  coming 
to  live  there,  and  that  she  had  come  to  see  what  sort  of 
place  it  was,  'and  what  sort  of  man  Mr.  Sinclair  was, 
before  she  made  up  her  mind  to  accompany  them. 

"  The  mistress,"  said  Maddy, "  is  often  no'  to  my  mind, 
and  I've  whiles  thought  o'  leavin',  but  the  house  wad 
gang  to  ruin  if  I  was  not  there  to  look  after  it,  and  I 
like  the  bairns ;  but  fancy,  after  the  way  I've  toiled  for 
them  a',  me  hearing  her  tell  them  that  they  were  not  to 
learn  my  coarse,  vulgar  way  o'  speaking ;  I  hope  they'll 
never  be  beside  nobody  that'll  learn  them  nothing  waur ; 
however,  if  it's  a  pleasant  place,  and  Mr.  Sinclair  ony  thing 
o'  a  canny  man,  I  can  manage  Aer." 

"  As  for  the  place,"  said  Peter, "  there's  no  a  faut  till't  ? 
as  for  the  man,  he's  ane  o'  the  folk  that  think  they  ken  a' 
thing,  but  a  decent  enough  body,  as  far  as  I  see." 

"  Ye  ken,  Maddy,"  said  Mrs.  Veitch,  "  Peter's  nettled 
at  him  interfering  wi'  him  in  the  garden." 

"  Weel,"  said  Peter,  "  I  dinna  doot  he  kens  the  busi- 
ness he  was  bred  to,  but  he  thinks  he  kens  my  business 
too,  and  he  comes  out  wi'  a  book  and  reads  a  wheeu 
havers  about  how  this  thing  should  be  done  and  the 


24  QUIXSTAR. 

other  thing  should  be  done,  as  if  I  hadna  wrocht  in  a 
garden  since  I  was  the  height  o'  that  table." 

"  But  Peter,"  said  his  wife,  "  there's  sic  a  thing  as 
progress;  the  warld  doesna  stand  still,  and  we're  no' 
ower  auld  to  learn." 

"  How  wad  ye  like  to  be  tell't  that  ye  didna  ken 
what  was  the  best  kind  o'  peas  to  saw  at  this  season  ? " 
asked  Peter. 

"  Hout,  man,  there's  aye  something  to  put  up  wi' ;  I'm 
sure  it's  just  as  easy  to  saw  ae  kind  o'  peas  as  anither," 
said  Mrs.  Veitch. 

"  May  be,"  said  Peter  sententiously. 

"  Weel,"  said  Maddy,  "  I  canna  say  but  that  I  think  a 
man  has  a  right  to  direct  about  his  garden;  I  wadna 
mind  that,  if  he  didna  interfere  in  the  house — that's  a 
thing  I  canna  thole,  and,  to  do  them  justice,  men  dinna 
often  try't.  I  never  fell  in  wi'  a  man  o'  that  kind  but 
once." 

"  I  daursay,  Maddy,"  said  Mrs.  Veitch,  "  the  like  o' 
you,  gaun  frae  place  to  place,  '11  see  mony  a  queer 
thing." 

"  I  havena  been  in  mony  places,  but,  as  ye  say,  there's 
aye  something  to  put  up  wi'.  The  queerest  place  I  ever 
was  in  was  just  afore  I  went  to  Mrs.  Sinclair.  The  gen- 
tleman kent  everything  that  came  into  the  house,  and 
the  price  o'  everything,  and  how  lang  it  lasted,  and  how 
lang  it  should  hae  lasted ;  na,  he  gied  out  the  very  soap 
for  the  washin's,  and  he  howkit  the  taties  for  the  denner, 
and  I  didna  object  to  him  doing  that  if  he  liket,  but  he 
took  out  an  auld  pitcher  lid,  and  every  worm  that 
turned  up  he  flung  into  it,  and  then  gied  them  to  the 
hens.  The  first  time  we  saw  him  do  it,  I  thought  the 
other  servant  and  me  wad  hae  gaen  into  fits." 

"  It  beat  a' !  "  said  Peter. 


QUIXSTAR.  25 

"  Ay,  that's  a  lesson  to  ye,  Peter,"  said  his  wife.  "  I 
tell't  ye  folk  were  never  ower  auld  to  learn." 

"  When  I  tell't  Bell  Sinclair,"  said  Maddy,  "  she  said 
she  hoped  the  folk  didna  think  o'  the  diet  o'  worms 
when  they  were  at  their  breakfast,  but  I  dinna  see  how 
they  could  help  it." 

"  And  was  he  a  gentleman  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Veitch. 

"  Oh  ay  !  a  gentleman  by  way  o'.  I  often  wondered 
the  mistress  could  thole  him,  but  she  was  an  easy-gaun 
body,  and  it  was  as  weel." 

"  Some  men  should  hae  been  women,"  said  Mrs. 
Veitch. 

"  I  never  saw  the  man  I  wad  hae  liket  to  hae  been 
me,"  said  Maddy  energetically. 

2 


CHAPTER    V. 

NEXT  day  Mr.  Sinclair  unwittingly  gave  Maddy  an 
opportunity  of  bringing  her  own  personal  powers  of  ob- 
servation to  bear  upon  him. 

She  set  out  to  walk  to  the  station,  accompanied  by 
Peter  Veitch  the  younger,  who  had  an  errand  of  his 
mother's  to  execute,  namely,  to  hand  in  a  bundle  to  a 
house  on  the  other  side  of  the  station.  Peter  set  off  at 
his  usual  active  pace. 

"  Now,"  said  Maddy,  "  whatever  ye  may  be  gaun  to 
do,  I'm  no'  gaun  to  rin  a'  the  road  ;  no'  but  I  could  do 
it  if  there  was  ony  necessity.  I  wonder  ye  didna  get  yer 
mother  to  put  your  bundle  in  a  bit  brown  paper,  it  wad 
have  looked  a  hantle  genteeler." 

"  Wad  it  ?  "  asked  Peter,  eyeing  the  bright  speckled 
bundle  which  he  had  slung  over  his  shoulder  on  the  end 
of  a  stick,  "  the  napkin  keeps  a'  thing  firm." 

"  My  man,  if  ye  Avere  a  wee  aulder  ye'll  no'  carry  a 
bundle  in  a  spotted  napkin,  or  I'm  mista'en." 

Now  it  was  too  bad  of  Maddy  to  wake  up  the  boy  to 
the  sin  and  misery  of  carrying  a  speckled  bundle.  There 
are  few  pleasanter  sights  to  be  met  on  a  country  road 
than  a  rustic  youth  with  a  clean-cut  well-shut  mouth — 
only  it  is  apt  to  be  open — bright  eyes,  and  a  speckled 
bundle,  but,  like  the  capercailzie,  he  is  dying  out,  and  is 
only  met  with  now  in  remote  districts. 


QUIXSTAR.  27 

Peter  kept  faithfully  alongside  his  companion,  and 
gave  her  all  the  information  about  country  matters  he 
was  master  of,  telling  her  to  whom  the  various  vehicles 
belonged  that  passed.  "  That  gig,"  looking  at  one  com- 
ing up  behind  them,  "  is  Mr.  Sinclair's  ;  he's  in't  himsel' ; 
he  keeps  a  gude  horse ;  that's  Jock  Murray  drivin'." 
Suddenly  the  handsome,  well-built  dog-cart  piilled  up 
alongside,  and  Mr.  Sinclair  said,  "  My  good  woman, 
if  you  are  going  to  the  station,  1  can  give  you  a  drive." 
This  was  a  way,  not  generally  adopted  in  this  country, 
if  anywhere,  Mr.  Sinclair  had  of  drawing  the  bonds  be- 
tween fellow-creatures  closer — whether  it  was  manly, 
gentlemanly,  or  tradesmanly,  it  was  a  peculiarity  of  Mr. 
Sinclair's. 

"Thank  you,  sir;  I'll  be  obliged,"  said  Maddy's 
sharp  brisk  tones,  "  but  there's  this  boy  ?  " 

"  Very  well,  get  in,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair  curtly. 

She  got  in,  and  Peter  sprang  in  after  her  like  a  mon- 
key, then  Mr.  Sinclair  looked  round  and  said, "  All  right," 
and  they  drove  on.  It  was  a  brilliant  era  for  Peter, 
only  his  pleasure  was  somewhat  dashed  by  the  secure 
and  legitimate  nature  of  it;  if  he  had  been  hanging  on 
behind  without  the  owner's  knowledge,  then  indeed  his 
bliss  would  have  been  complete  ;  as  it  was,  he  sat  a  little 
awed  by  his  rare  and  elevated  position. 

"  Isn't  this  fine,  Peter  ?  "  said  Miss  Fairgrieve.  He 
nodded  assent. 

At  the  same  moment  they  reached  a  cottage  on  the 
roadside ;  a  man  came  out  of  it  completely  equipped  in 
the  garb  of  Old  Gaul,  and  playing  the  bagpipes  full 
screech.  Probably  Mr.  Sinclair's  horse  had  never  bad 
an  opportunity  of  hearing  that  instrument  in  all  its  maj- 
esty before,  and  not  altogether  unnaturally  his  first  idea 
was  to  put  as  great  a  distance  between  it  and  himself  as 


28  QUIXSTAR. 

possible.  He  started  off  at  a  tearing  gallop,  literally 
flying  like  the  wind.  The  driver's  whip  was  jerked 
from  his  hand,  and  in  trying  to  catch  it  he  let  the  reins 
go.  Mr.  Sinclair  leaned  over  to  recover  them,  lost  his 
balance,  and  was  pitched  into  the  road.  Miss  Fairgrieve 
gave  a  loud  scream,  but  kept  her  seat.  Peter  moved 
forward,  but  she  grasped  him,  and  said,  "  For  your  life, 
bairn,  sit  still." 

"  I'm  no  gaun  out — let  me  be,"  said  Peter  impatient- 
ly ;  and  he  wriggled  himself  out  of  her  hands,  and  over 
into  the  front  seat,  where,  sticking  on  by  one  hand,  he 
used  the  other  to  hook  up  the  reins  with  his  stick.  They 
were  nearing  a  toll-bar,  and  the  toll-man,  hearing  the  rush 
of  the  runaway  horse,  darted  out  and  shut  the  gates,  but 
by  the  time  they  reached  it  Peter  had  managed  to  check 
the  animal,  and  was  sitting  triumphantly  beside  the  crest- 
fallen driver,  having  saved  horse,  carriage,  and  toll-gate 
from  a  furious  smash. 

"  Can  ye  turn  the  beast  round  ?  "  said  Maddy.  "  For 
ony  sake  gang  back,  and  let  us  see  what's  happened  to 
Mr.  Sinclair." 

Peter  not  forgetting  his  own  errand,  pitched  his  non- 
genteel  bundle  to  the  toll-man,  and  bade  him  send  it  on, 
then  coolly  drove  back,  the  original  Jehu  not  having 
recovered  his  scattered  senses. 

They  soon  met  a  man  whom  Mr.  Sinclair  had  sent 
to  find  out  their  fate,  and  he  told  them  that  Mr.  Sinclair 
was  lying  where  he  had  fallen,  not  able  to  move  with  a 
broken  leg.  "  It's  a  mercy  it's  not  his  neck  !  "  said  Miss 
Fairgrieve  promptly. 

When  they  arrived  on  the  spot  Mr.  Sinclair  did  not 
look  the  picture  of  patient  resignation.  A  man  and  a 
woman  from  the  cottage  were  standing  by  him.  The 
woman  turned  and  said  to  Maddy,  "  He's  in  for  six 


QUIXSTAR.  29 

weeks  on  the  braid  o'  his  back.  Our  John  got  his  leg 
broken  wi'  a  kick  frae  ane  o'  the  horse,  and  it  was  six 
weeks  or  he  daur  steer." 

"  Weel,"  broke  in  Miss  Fairgrieve's  sharp  tones, 
"  is  the  gentleman  to  lie  six  weeks  on  the  road  ?  Ye'll 
no  hae  sic  a  thing  as  a  mattress  ?  " 

She  went  with  the  woman  to  the  house,  and  got  out 
a  narrow  stiff  mattress,  to  which  Mr.  Sinclair  was  cau- 
tiously lifted,  then  the  men  who  had  collected  hoisted 
him  and  it  together  across  the  seat  of  the  vehicle,  the 
cushions  of  which  served  for  a  pillow,  in  which  way  it 
was  thought  he  would  get  home  as  comfortably  as  cir- 
cumstances would  permit. 

While  this  was  being  done  Maddy  asked  Peter  if 
there  were  a  doctor  in  Quixstar. 

"  Doctor !  "  said  Peter,  "  there's  three,  and  ony  ane 
o'  them'll  be  ower  glad  to  tak'  off  his  leg." 

"  Whisht,  laddie,"  said  Maddy. 

"  Weel,  it's  true,  and  he'll  never  ken ;  they  just  put  a 
pickle  o'  some  stuff  up  his  nose,  and  he'll  never  find  it — 
as  sure  as  death,  the  doctor's  laddie  tell't  me." 

"  Gallant,  ye  have  a  tongue  that  wad  clip  clouts," 
said  Maddy,  and  a  smile  stole  over  Mr.  Sinclair's  face, 
in  spite  of  the  pain  he  was  suffering. 

Owing  to  this  grievous  accident  Maddy  missed  the 
train,  and  by  consequence  had  to  stay  another  night 
with  Mrs.  Veitch,  and  she  had  much  pleasure  in  recount- 
ing Peter's  cleverness,  his  quickness  of  brain  and  hand 
on  the  occasion. 

"  He's  a  clever  wee  chap,"  said  the  gratified  father. 

"  Oh,  there's  nae  doubt  he's  clever,"  said  Mrs.  Veitch, 
"  and  ye'll  be  blawing  him  up  about  what  he's  done,  then 
the  next  clever  thing  he  does  ye'll  be  threatening  to 
thresh  him  for't !  " 


30  QUIXSTAK. 

"  Woman,"  said  Peter,  "  do  ye  no'  ken  that  there's 
some  things  that's  richt,  and  some  things  that's  wrang, 
and  some  things  that  it's  a  matter  o'  opinion  whether  they 
are  richt  or  wrang ;  ye  think  it's  wrang  for  Peter  to  run 
off  to  the  dam-head  to  the  dookin'  wi'  ane  o'  your  scones 
in  his  pouch  for  a  chitterin'  piece,  and  swim  about  like  a 
fish,  but  it's  just  what  I  used  to  do  mysel',  and  callants'll 
be  callants  to  the  end  o'  time ;  but  when  he  tells  a  lee, 
that's  a  different  thing." 

"  Weel,  weel,  ye'll  maybe  be  o'  my  way  o1  thinking 
when  he's  brought  hame  drowned  some  day.  It's  nae 
langer  than  yesterday  that  I  saw  a  wheen  laddies  stand- 
ing roond  ane  o'  the  big  trees  in  the  park,  and  lookin' 
up  at  it,  and  when  I  lookit  there  was  our  Peter  whiskin' 
frae  branch  to  branch  like  a  squirrel  at  the  very  tap  o't. 
I  grew  sick  and  dizzy,  and  cried  to  him  to  come  down ; 
he  drappit  frae  branch  to  branch  till  he  cam'  to  the  last, 
then  put  his  arms  round  the  tree,  and  slid  to  the  ground, 
laughing  and  telling  me  he  had  often  been  up  a  higher 
tree  than  that.  I  put  it  to  you,  Peter  Veitch,  whae's  to 
haud  the  laddie  in  claes  at  that  rate  ?  " 

"  Ay,"  said  Peter,  "  I  maun  hae  a  word  wi'  him  about 
that." 

"  Weel,"  said  Maddy,  "  he  has  common  sense,  and  if 
he's  neither  drowned  nor  killed  he's  likely  to  turn  weel 
out." 

"  Deed,  I  dinna  ken,  Maddy,"  said  Mrs. Veitch, "  it's  a 
sair  thought  when  bairns  come  up  and  hae  to  gang  away 
frae  ye.  When  they  were  a'  young  I  whiles  thought  I 
was  hard  toiled,  but  after  a'  ye're  never  happier  than 
when  they're  a'  round  the  fireside,  and  ye  can  gie  them  a 
dad  on  the  lug  when  ye  like."  And  Mrs.  Veitch  sighed 
over  tliis  image  of  departed  joys. 

"  But  Peter's  no   gaun  away   yet,"  said   his  father 


QUIXSTAR.  31 

cheerily ;  "  we'll  gie  him  another  twel'month  o'  the 
schulen,  he'll  be  nane  the  waur  o't." 

"  He's  been  lang  eneugh  at  the  schule  if  he's  to  be  a 
trade,"  said  the  mother ;  "  but  if  he  wad  think  o'  the 
ministry — " 

"  Ay,"  said  Maddy,  "  mak'  a  minister  o'  him,  he'll 
gie't  to  the  folk  het  and  hashy." 

"  I  dinna  see,"  said  Mrs.  Veitch,  a  little  offended, 
"  but  he  wad  be  as  guid  a  minister  as  the  lave." 

"  Better— far  better,"  said  Maddy. 

"If  he  were  to  think  o't  himsel'  I  wad  be  well 
pleased,"  said  the  gardener ;  "  but  we  canna  force  the 
callant." 

"  We  can  only  hope  he'll  be  weel  guided,"  said  his 
mother. 

Maddy  reached  home  next  day  without  further  ad- 
venture than  ensconcing  herself  in  the  smoking  com- 
partment of  a  railway  carriage.  A  guard  looked  in, 
and  asked  her  what  she  was  doing  there. 

"  Doing  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Ay,  doing ;  d'ye  want  to  tak'  a  bit  smoke  to  your- 
sel'?" 

"  Me  smoke  !  "  said  the  indignant  Maddy,  "  but  it's 
no  me  that's  stupid,  it's  you — putting  a  notice  over  the 
door  it  wad  need  a  magnifying-glass  to  read,"  and  she 
changed  her  seat  for  one  the  guard  showed  her  to, 
kindly  telling  her  to  sit  with  her  back  to  the  horses. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Mrs.  Sinclair  heard  of  her  brother-in-law's 
accident  she  set  off  immediately  for  Quixstar  to  make 
herself  of  use.  She  was  fond  of  being  of  use — an  excel- 
lent quality  if  people  can  make  themselves  of  use  as  the 
sun  shines  or  the  dew  falls,  but  rather  different  when  it 
is  done  as  the  paddle-wheels  of  a  steamboat  do  it. 

Mr.  Sinclair  was  slightly  dismayed  when  he  saw 
her ;  however,  he  said  and  thought  it  was  kind  of  her 
to  come;  and  when  a  man  is  weak  and  suffering  he 
feels  kindness  more  perhaps,  and  if  there  are  few  people 
left  in  the  world  that  call  him  by  his  Christian  name, 
why,  even  if  he  is  not  of  a  sentimental  vein,  he  is 
touched  by  hearing  the  old  sound,  and  Mrs.  Sinclair 
called  him  "Adam,"  and  did  not  stay  long  with  him,  for 
all  which  he  was  grateful. 

By  and  by  people  began  to  call,  among  others  Mrs. 
Gilbert,  and  when  she  was  gone  Mrs.  Sinclair  hastened 
to  let  her  brother  know  what  a  good  neighbor  he  had. 

"  She  is  such  an  intelligent  woman,  Mrs.  Gilbert,"  she 
said.  "  I  may  say  intellectual — positively  intellectual, 
and  she  takes  such  an  interest  in  education,  which  is,  to 
be  sure,  natural  from  her  position ;  but  she  entered  so 
warmly  into  my  ideas  about  the  dear  children  ;  and  do 
you  know  her  own  girls  attend  their  papa's  school  ?  and  if 
they  do,  I  think  mine  may.  There  are  different  opin- 
ions respecting  the  propriety  of  boys  and  girls  attend- 


QUIXSTAR.  33 

ing  the  same  school,  but  if  it  is  injurious  to  either,  why, 
I  say,  are  boys  and  girls  born  in  the  same  family? 
That  being  the  case,  it  would  seem  they  were  intended 
to  act  and  react  beneficially  on  each  other — does  it  not, 
Adam  ?  What  a  pity  such  a  woman  as  Mrs,  Gilbert 
has  no  boys  ! " 

"  She  has  boys — one  at  least,  if  not  two." 

"  And  never  mentioned  them  !  Most  extraordinary  ! 
Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure." 

"  I  would  expect  them  to  turn  out  something — great 
men  always  have  intellectual  mothers.  I  sometimes 
say  to  Tom,  '  Tom,  my  boy,  although  your  mamma 
does  not  pretend  to  intellect,  still  she  is  not  quite  a 
dunce  either." 

"  And  what  does  Tom  say  ?  "  asked  the  invalid. 

"  Nothing,  most  likely.  Tom  does  not  speak  much, 
he  thinks  a  great  deal  more  than  he  says." 

"  Perhaps  he  takes  that  from  his  mother  ?" 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  think  a  great  deal,  Adam  ? " 
said  the  lady  with  a  pleasant  smile.  "  You  see,"  she 
said,  as  a  sort  of  apology,  "  in  my  position  I  am  forced 
to  think — by  the  bye,  what  would  you  like  for  dinner 
to-morrow  ?  cook  Avants  to  get  away  for  a  day,  and  I 
suspect  the  other  girl  is  no  cook ;  as  for  Maddy,  she 
knows  less  of  cooking  than  I  do,  although  she  considers 
herself  so  invaluable ;  but  if  there's  anything  particular 
you  would  like,  I'll  get  cook  to  make  it  before  she  goes." 

"  I'll  take  anything." 
•   "  Would  you  not  just  say  what  you  would  like  ?  " 

"  Oh,  anything ;  it  does  not  matter." 

"  We'll  manage  amongst  us  then.  But  Adam,  do 
you  think  I  should  send  the  girls  to  Mr.  Gilbert's 

school?" 

.->* 


34  QUIXSTAB. 

"  Is  it  worth  while  ?  How  long  are  you  going  to 
stay  here  ?  "  asked  the  host  with  blunt  innocence. 

"  I  was  thinking,  if  you  don't  tire  of  us,  all  summer 
at  least,  and  it's  a  pity  to  lose  so  much  time." 

"  Certainly  send  them,  if  you  like." 

Mr.  Kennedy  called,  and  to  him  also  Mrs.  Sinclair 
explained  her  position.  "  Did  he  think  she  should 
send  her  children  to  Mr.  Gilbert's  school  ?  " 

"  Ah,  he's  a  very  worthy  man,  Gilbert — has  his 
weaknesses,  no  doubt,  as  we  all  have,  but  a  worthy  man, 
and,  I  believe,  a  good  teacher.  You  don't  object  to 
your  children  mixing  \vith  the  multitude  ?  " 

"  That's  just  the  thing,  Mr.  Kennedy,  iny  one  ob- 
jection— do  you  think  that  insuperable  ?  " 

"  Well,  it's  for  you  to  decide." 

"  Mr.  Gilbert's  own  girls  attend  it,  and  there  is  noth- 
ing rude  or  unmannerly  about  them." 

"  No  ;  well,  as  I  said,  it's  for  you  to  decide." 

"  Ah,  yes  !  it's  a  heavy  responsibility  the  care  of 
fatherless  children ;  in  any  case,  it  is  a  very  heavy  re- 
sponsibility— so  much  so,  that  one  would  sink  under  it 
if  they  did  not  so  sweetly  repay  all  one's  toil." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Kennedy  shortly. 

Unlike  most  manses,  there  were  no  children  in  the 
manse  at  Quixstar,  a  fact  Mrs.  Sinclair  was  well  aware 
of,  but  she  would  have  dilated  to  a  lame  man  on  the 
pleasure  of  dancing,  with  no  notion  that  he  might  not 
enjoy  the  topic.  However,  in  knowing  Mrs.  Sinclair 
you  had  this  consolation,  that  there  existed  at  least  one 
person  about  whom  you  might  dismiss  all  anxiety. 
She  carried  the  conviction  to  your  mind  that  she  had 
passed  and  would  pass  through  the  world  with  great 
comfort  to  herself,  and  it  is  a  luxury,  to  have  one  such 
acquaintance.  She  also  asked  the  advice  of  the  doctor 


QUIXSTAR.  35 

who  attended  Mr.  Sinclair,  but  he  was  a  man  of  few 
words,  and  averse  to  having  his  time  frittered  away, 
neither  had  he  studied  the  art  or  science — which  you 
will — of  making  himself  agreeable,  so  that  he  did  not 
throw  much  light  on  the  subject.  When  he  went  home 
he  said  to  his  wife  or  sister — I  forget  at  this  moment 
in  what  relationship  the  lady  who  kept  his  house  stood 
to  him,  but  it  does  not  matter ;  he  said — 

"  Females  are  the  most  curious  beings.  If  you  ask 
them  a  question  they  start  off  at  a  tangent  into  the 
most  utterly  irrelevant  matter,  and  there's  no  bringing 
them  up, — you  must  just  wait  helpless  until  they  stop. 
That  Mrs.  Sinclair  may  be  called  the  '  speaking  lady.'  " 

Accordingly  between  the  doctor  and  his  wife  or  sister, 
she  was  thereafter  known  as  the  "  speaking  lady."  This 
doctor  was  a  very  quiet,  apparently  unobservant  man. 
Men  or  women  who  visibly  take  notes  may  be  trusted 
to  carry  nothing  of  much  value  away ;  it  is  the  people 
who  don't  seem  to  notice  that  take  into  their  minds  and 
memories  things  great  and  small,  as  a  whirlpool  sucks  in 
ships  and  feathers,  or  as  a  bivalve  grows  fat  by  lying 
with  its  shell  open. 

"  Well,  I  have  done  it,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair  to  her 
brother-in-law, "  and  I  do  think  it  is  an  admirable  arrange- 
ment." 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  I  have  sent  the  children  to  Mr.  Gilbert's  school. 
But  here  comes  your  dinner,"  and  she  pushed  a  small 
table  up  to  Mr.  Sinclair's  sofa,  on  which  the  servant  set 
the  tray  she  carried. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  said  Mr.  Sinclair,  as  he  put  a  spoon 
into  a  basin  of  some  kind  of  soup ;  "  why,  it's  swimming 
with  fat,  and  smells  of  onions — see,  take  it  away,  I  can't 
eat  that." 


36  QUIXSTAR. 

"  If  you  would  only  taste  it,  you  would  find  it  very 
nice ;  cook's  away  to-day,  and  you  said  you  would  take 
anything." 

"  Anything  in  reason  !  you  don't  suppose  a  man  tied 
to  a  sofa  has  the  appetite  of  a  ploughman,"  and  he 
thought,  "  Three  women  in  a  house,  and  they  send  up  a 
sickening  mess  like  that !  I  wonder  if  any  one  of  them 
has  common  sense." 

Mrs.  Sinclair  rang  the  bell  and  had  the  obnoxious  dish 
removed  and  something  less  offensive  substituted,  and, 
happily  ignorant  of  the  flagrant  mistake  she  had  made, 
she  pursued  her  theme — 

"  Indeed,  I  feel  I  have  done  a  wise  thing — for  Tom, 
at  least;  of  course,  there's  the  risk  of  low  companions — 
that  boy  Peter  Veitch,  and  such  like." 

"  I  hope  they'll  never  rub  against  anything  worse  than 
Peter,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  believe  otherwise  than  that  the 
Veitches  are  decent  people,  but  that  boy  is  very  for- 
ward," Mrs.  Sinclair  said. 

"  He  is  clever,"  answered  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  It  is  certainly  not  a  style  of  cleverness  I  envy  for 
Tom,  far  less  for  the  girls,  but  we'll  see  how  they  get 
on." 

Mr.  Sinclair  had  not  a  passion  for  children,  by  any 
means ;  no  doubt  he  had  hitherto  kept  a  friendly  eye  on 
his  brother's  children,  and  meant  to  continue  to  do  so, 
but  they  appeared  to  him  very  ordinary  specimens — in 
all  respects  ordinary.  He  did  not  think  the  less  of  them 
for  that ;  he  thought  that  ordinary  people  passed  through 
life  with  more  comfort  to  themselves  than  extraordinary 
people,  and  did  perhaps  as  much  good  on  their  way. 
What  Mr.  Sinclair's  own  estimate  of  himself  was  is  not 
known,  nor  is  it  known  whether  there  had  ever  been  a 


QTJIXSTAR.  37 

crisis  of  any  kind  in  his  life ;  but  either  from  experience 
or  observation  he  had  gathered  this  opinion  concerning 
the  blessedness  of  ordinary  people.  One  thing  is  certain : 
he  had  gone  into  a  business  very  distasteful  to  him,  to 
please  his  father ;  he  never  learned  to  like  it,  but  he  had 
not  the  strength  of  character  necessary  to  take  circum- 
stances by  the  horns,  still  less  to  bend  them  to  his  will 
— that  power  would  have  marked  him  as  extraordinary 
— and  he  had  remained  in  it  till  he  came  to  Quixstar. 
I  lean  to  the  opinion  that  there  was  no  mystery  in  Mr. 
Sinclair's  life,  no  striking  story — that  he  was  what  he  was 
by  a  natural  and  gradual  process.  Mr.  Kennedy,  who, 
when  Mr.  Sinclair  had  got  the  length  of  the  sofa,  was  ad- 
mitted to  his  room,  was  not  impressed  with  his  intellect, 
but  Mr.  Kennedy  was  not  a  man  apt  to  make  discoveries 
of  this  kind ;  rather  he  was  deeply  impressed  with  the 
ignorance  and  stupidity  of  most  people.  At  first  Mr. 
Sinclair  considered  the  minister's  visits  a  bore,  but  prob- 
ably there  are  few  persons  who,  consciously  or  uncon 
sciously,  are  not  pleased  with  attention,  and  there  was 
what  his  parishioners  called  a  "  youthiness  "  about  Mr. 
Kennedy — he  seemed  to  shake  health  from  his  hair  as  a 
comet  is  said  to  do  pestilence — that  made  him  not  out 
of  place  in  Mr.  Sinclair's  chamber,  where  there  was 
neither  sickness  of  body  or  mind,  but  merely  a  broken 
leg  "  going  on  favorably."  His  cheery  "  Ha  !  how  do 
you  find  yourself  to-day  ?  "  his  detail  of  where  he  had 
been,  of  what  he  had  been  doing,  and  of  all  the  news  of 
the  district,  amused  Mr.  Sinclair.  These  two  men  liked 
to  hear  the  murmur  of  their  bourg,  and  why  shouldn't 
they  ?  If  it  was  not  the  great  wave  that  echoes  round 
the  world,  it  was  part  of  it,  and  their  part  of  it,  and  it 
would  have  been  a  pity  had  they  not  been  interested  in 
it;  but  you  will  understand  that  in  common  with  most 


38  QUIXSTAR. 

people  they  disliked  gossip,  and  when  they  got  into  a 
stream  of  it,  they  had  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  them- 
selves martyrs  while  listening,  of  looking  down  on  the 
medium,  and  of  hearing  the  news  without  any  trouble  or 
loss  of  dignity  in  asking  questions. 

"  I  am  really  glad  you  are  getting  on  so  well,"  said 
Mr.  Kennedy.  "  You  have  much  to  be  thankful  for,  sir." 

"  I  suppose  I  have,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair  in  no  very 
thankful  tone. 

"Yes,  a  great  deal.  You  don't  find  your  nights 
wearisome  ?  It  is  the  longest  day  just  now  ;  I  notice  all 
invalids  count  immensely  on  that.  Curious  ;  it  never 
matters  to  me  whether  it  is  light  or  dark  when  I  am  in 
bed  ;  and  in  winter  I  often  tell  my  sick  friends  that  they 
are  well  off  to  keep  snug,  and  not  be  obliged  to  tramp 
about  as  I  do." 

"  Perhaps,  like  me,  you  have  not  been  much  accustom- 
ed to  illness?"  said  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  I  never  was  laid  up  but  once,  long  ago,  with  a 
sprained  ankle.  It  was  a  terrible  business,  I  mind — a 
terrible  business.  Well,  is  there  anything  I  can  do  for 
you  ?  Perhaps  I  may  have  a  book  that  might  suit  you  ; 
let  me  think — something  light  and  entertaining.  Yes,  I 
have  some  volumes  of  anecdotes  on  religious  and  benev- 
olent subjects  that  would  be  the  very  thing  ;  I'll  send 
one.  Oh,  trouble — it's  no  trouble." 

When  he  went  home,  he  sent  the  volume,  thinking, 
"  That  will  just  about  fit  him ;  he  is  a  pretty  intelligent 
man.  I  hope  he  is  not  as  pig-headed  as  tradesmen  who 
have  made  a  little  money  often  are,  and  that  he  won't 
work  mischief  in  the  parish." 

When  the  book  was  laid  on  Mr.  Sinclair's  table  he 
laughed,  and  did  not  feel  as  if  he  would  grow  in  stature 
under  Mr.  Kennedy's  teaching. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ALTHOUGH  thus  kindly  dealt  by,  Mr.  Sinclair  was  not 
the  less  thankful  when,  with  the  help  of  a  stick,  he  could 
walk  through  his  garden.  At  the  foot  of  it  he  had  a 
favorite  resting-place,  where  he  often  stopped  and 
looked  at  and  listened  to  the  water  flowing  on.  On  one 
particular  day  he  stood  a  long  time  watching  a  group 
quite  unconscious  of  his  presence.  Owing  to  a  three 
days'  incessant  rain,  such  as  our  climate  delights  in, 
there  had  been  a  recent  flood,  during  which  the  Eden 
had  been  coming  past  with  great  gliding  business-like 
strides,  brown  and  drumlie,  the  foam  getting  no  time 
to  play  itself.  On,  on  it  went ;  but  now  it  had  leisure  to 
sail  round  the  stones,  that  were  coming  to  sight  again 
after  the  flood,  to  sweep  into  the  mimic  bays,  to  hover 
about  and  sparkle  when  the  sun's  rays  caught  it,  and 
then  to  venture  forth  on  its  further  voyage. 

On  the  broad  wooden  bridge  were  the  schoolmaster's 
children  and  the  Sinclairs,  intently  occupied  floating 
sticks  and  straws  and  corks  down  the  stream,  and  watch- 
ing their  onward  course,  each  as  interested  in  the  pro- 
gress of  his  or  her  particular  craft  as  if  something  of 
moment  depended  on  it.  Mr.  Sinclair's  reflections,  as  he 
looked  at  them,  wTere  most  likely  afternoony  in  their 
complexion.  Perhaps  he  gave  a  sigh  to  the  memory  of 
his  own  boyhood — not  that  there  were  any  very  deli- 
cious remembrances  mixed  up  with  it,  only  that  then  he 


40  QUIXSTAR. 

had  life  before  him,  now  it,  or  what  might  be  supposed 
to  be  the  best  part  of  it,  was  behind  him.  He  remem- 
bered when  he  and  his  brother  were  very  young,  tak- 
ing Tom  into  a  room  which  was  seldom  used,  and  cut- 
ting out  all  his  beautiful  curls — why,  he  could  not  recall, 
whether  from  jealousy,  or  envy,  or  what;  but  he  never 
forgot  how  his  mother  punished  him,  for  Tom  was  her 
favorite  openly  and  avowedly.  Tom  was  gone ;  he 
had  not  done  much  good  in  his  life,  but  neither  had  he 
done  much  positive  evil ;  and  there  were  his  representa- 
tives, in  whom  he  ought  to  have  felt  an  overwhelming 
interest,  but  did  not.  "  They'll  get  through  the  world 
like  other  people,  I  suppose,  if  their  foolish  mother  does 
not  spoil  them,"  he  thought. 

Mrs.  Sinclair  was  at  an  upper  window  of  the  house, 
and  she  also  was  watching  the  children.  She  saw  the 
girls,  but  Tom  she  did  not  see. 

"  I  wonder  what  he  is  about  ?  "  she  thought ;  trying 
some  kind  of  experiment  likely.  II  think  it  was  Mungo 
Park  that  dropped  pebbles  into  the  water  to  ascertain 
its  depth.  I  wonder  if  Tom  will  be  famous  as  an  explor- 
er ;  he  might  benefit  mankind,  but  it  would  be  danger- 
ous.— Maddy,"  she  said,  catching  sight  of  that  individual, 
"  I  don't  see  Master  Thomas.  I  am  afraid  he  is  lying  on 
the  damp  grass ;  run  down  to  the  water-side  with  that 
mat,"  pointing  to  a  deerskin  on  the  floor,  "  and  say  that  I 
would  prefer  that  he  should  not  lie,  but  if  he  will  lie,  let 
him  lie  on  the  skin.  Boys  are  so  thoughtless,  and  he'll 
be  sure  to  catch  cold." 

Maddy  obeyed ;  she  darted  through  the  garden  door 
opening  to  the  river,  and  discovered  Tom  on  the  under 
branch  of  a  tree,  hidden  by  the  leaves,  eating  peas,  with 
which  he  had  filled  his  pockets,  throwing  the  empty 
shells  into  the  water,  aiming  them  first  at  any  head  with- 


QUIXSTAB.  41 

in  reach.     She  gave  her  message  with  less  ceremony 
and  more  point  than  she  got  it. 

Yet  a  third  person  was  watching  these  children. 
Mrs.  Gilbert  had  been  sitting  in  her  parlor  window 
during  the  afternoon  sewing,  and  in  her  work-basket  lay 
a  copy  of  Cowper.  Cowper  in  these  days  is  voted  old- 
fashioned  and  slow ;  but  to  get  away  from  all  the  chatter 
and  smatter  and  tremendous  intelligence  of  the  hour ;  to 
fall  in  with  a  woman  who  does  not  know  everything ; 
who  sews  and  reads  Cowper,  is  very  refreshing.  Pass- 
ing Mrs.  Gilbert's  window,  and  seeing  her  thus  employ- 
ed, you  would  have  felt  inclined  to  turn  and  pass  back 
again,  merely  to  get  more  thoroughly  the  soothing  influ- 
ence of  the  picture.  On  this  afternoon  she  had  put 
down  her  sewing,  and  gone  out  into  the  soft  glory  of 
the  summer  day.  There  was  still  the  clear  shining  after 
the  rain ;  the  earth  was  very  black,  and  every  green  thing 
was  greener ;  globules  of  the  purest  liquid  stood  trem- 
bling and  sparkling  on  the  curly-leaved  vegetables,  one 
or  two  snails  had  ventured  out  and  were  munching  a  salad 
— they  drew  in  their  horns  as  Mrs.  Gilbert  passed,  their 
way  possibly  of  lifting  their  hats.  Mrs.  Gilbert  was  not 
without  a  sense  of  all  these  things  ;  but  her  world  was 
her  children — they  were  her  passion.  She  stood  look- 
ing at  them,  but  it  was  not  with  the  silly  good-natured 
pride  with  which  Mrs.  Sinclair  surveyed  hers,  nor  with 
the  dry,  dutiful  criticism  which  Mr.  Sinclair  brought  to 
bear  upon  his  nieces  and  nephew.  She  trembled  for 
John,  her  first-born  and  only  son.  She  had  once  found 
him  out  in  a  lie ;  he  had  once  borrowed  money,  only  a 
shilling  or  two,  from  an  aunt  of  his  father's  that  lived 
near  them.  She  had  brought  John  to  a  sense  of  his  sin, 
and  there  had  been  no  repetition  of  it ;  but  it  had  cost 
her  tears  and  anguish,  and  when  she  was  in  a  melancholy 


42  QUIXSTAR. 

mood,  as  sometimes  happened,  she  thought, "  What  if  he 
should  go  astray  ? "  There  he  was,  however,  by  the 
water's  .edge,  looking  innocent  enough,  but  his  mother 
could  not  get  rid  of  her  anxiety.  His  sisters,  too — what 
was  to  be  their  fate  ?  Somehow  Mrs.  Gilbert  never 
thought  of  matrimony  as  novel-writers  do,  as  the  end  of 
care  and  the  beginning  of  lasting  bliss  ;  she  always  found 
herself  planning  to  make  them  independent  of  it.  But 
how  to  do  that  ?  Besides,  they  promised  to  be  good- 
looking,  and  it  vexed  her :  good  looks  are  so  apt  to 
attract  weak  or  wicked  men.  You  will  say  she  was  un- 
reasonable. She  was,  very ;  deep  love  is  apt  to  be  un- 
reasonable. But  such  moods  were  passing  ;  her  brow 
smoothed,  and  she  felt  as  if  she  had  nothing  to  wish  for. 
Had  she  anything  to  wish  for  ?  I'll  tell  you,  though  I 
feel  quite  as  reluctant  to  reveal  Mr.  Gilbert's  weakness, 
as  I  would  have  done  to  write  of  any  little  tender  story 
of  disappointment  that  might  be  hidden  away  in  Mr. 
Sinclair's  life,  if  I  had  known  it.  Mr.  Sinclair  ought  to  be 
thankful  that  if  there  is  such  a  thing,  I  don't  know  about 
it ;  people  can't  tell  what  they  don't  know,  and  that  is 
about  the  only  security  for  silence.  But  I  knew  Mr. 
Gilbert  well,  and  liked  him;  it  is  so  easy  to  like  people 
with  whom  you  are  not  in  hourly  contact,  and  whose 
shortcomings  don't  run  right  against  the  grain  of  your 
own  shortcomings.  Mr.  Gilbert  was  vain  and  self-con- 
scious to  a  degree,  but  only  to  a  degree.  Oh,  what 
a  wicked  thing  it  was  of  the  fairy  who  presided  at  his 
birth  to  scrimp  the  dose  !  If  her  hand  had  only  been 
bigger,  or  if  she  had  filled  it  twice,  he  would  have 
gone  through  the  world  triumphantly.  As  it  was,  his 
own  opinion  of  himself  was  not  sufficient  to  him  unless 
it  was  indorsed  by  other  people,  and  he  was  an  unap- 
preciated man  on  the  lookout  for  slights.  If  you  are 


QUIXSTAR.  43 

on  the  lookout  for  anything,  you  are  pretty  sure  to 
fall  in  with  it.  If  Mr.  Gilbert  had  grasped  the  nettles 
on  his  way  firmly  he  would  have  got  on,  but  he  shrank 
from  them,  and  was  constantly  being  stung. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gilbert  called  this  weakness  a  more 
than  usually  fine  sensibility,  a  delicate  organization,  and 
Mrs.  Gilbert  soothed  and  coaxed  and  propped  and  sup- 
ported it  behind  the  scenes,  and  loved  her  husband  not 
the  less  but  the  more  all  the  while  that  it  was  the  worry 
of  her  life.  A  manly  vice — if  there  be  a  manly  vice, 
perhaps  riding  steeple-chases,  for  instance,  which  is  a 
vice  because  it  risks  life  for  no  good  end,  and  is  not  with- 
out manliness  because  it  does  risk  it — would  have  been 
less  irritating,  one  would  think.  David  might  well 
speak  of  the  love  of  women ;  but  he  used  a  poet's  license 
when  he  said  his  and  Jonathan's  surpassed  it — the  thing 
was  impossible. 

Mrs.  Gilbert  was  thankful  to  see  that  her  son  had 
not  inherited  this  delicate  organization  of  his  father. 
Public  opinion  had  little  purchase  on  him  as  yet,  per- 
haps too  little,  but  he  had  good  abilities ;  and  though  she 
knew  that  dulness  is  often  safe,  she  could  not  help,  as 
she  gazed  at  them,  feeling  proud  of  her  clever  boy  and 
pretty  girls. 

She  had  reached  this  pleasant  point  in  her  cogita- 
tions when  Peter  Veitch  came  up,  and  seeing  Tom 
Sinclair  lolling  on  the  deerskin,  he  said— 

"  Where's  your  parasol,  Robinson  ?  Arle  me  for  Fri- 
day ;  see,  there's  the  print  o'  my  feet." 

An  urchin  passing  at  the  moment  cried,  "  Mind  the 
auld  man's  watching  ye  !  " 

"  What  auld  man  ?  "  asked  Peter.  "  Ou  're  no'  doing 
ony  mischief." 

Mr.   Sinclair,  hearing  what  was  said,  was  looking 


44  QUIXSTAR. 

about  for  the  old  man  who  was  watching,  when  he  saw 
the  boy  point  to  himself,  and  say,  "  There,  at  the  fit  o'  his 
garden."  Mrs.  Gilbert,  from  the  spot  on  which  she  was 
standing,  had  both  seen  and  heard,  and  she  could  not 
avoid  smiling,  as  there  was  no  necessity  she  should.  Mr. 
Sinclair  smiled  too,  and  turned  and  went  up  his  garden, 
with  food  for  meditation  probably.  Mrs.  Gilbert  had 
in  two  separate  instances  about  this  time  let  a  man  know 
indirectly  that  she  did  not  think  him  so  young  as  he 
had  been,  and  the  words  were  not  out  of  her  mouth 
when  she  saw  she  had  not  given  pleasure  ;  yet  she  had 
done  it  innocently,  under  the  idea  that  a  squeamishness 
about  growing  old  was  most  strictly  a  feminine  weakness ; 
but  she  made  a  note  of  it,  and  determined  she  would  not 
offend  again. 

Tom  Sinclair  and  his  sisters  Bell  and  Effie  were  to 
stay  the  rest  of  the  day  with  the  Gilberts ;  and  Avhen 
Mrs.  Gilbert  called  them  in,  Peter  Veitch  was  left  alone 
to  ponder  and  slowly  come  alive  to  the  fact  that  between 
these  his  school-fellows  and  himself  there  yawned  a  great 
social  gulf.  But  this  glimpse  of  human  institutions  did  not 
weigh  on  his  spirits.  He  was  disappearing  like  an 
arrow  to  throw  himself  into  some  other  pursuit,  when 
Mrs.  Gilbert,  who  had  a  fondness  for  the  boy,  asked 
him  to  come  too. 

"  You  had  better  run  home  and  tell  your  mother 
where  you  are  to  be,  and  come  back,"  she  said. 

"  No,  no,"  said  he,  "  she  never  expects  me  till  she 
sees  me.  I  wasna  gaun  hame  the  noo  at  ony  rate." 

Peter  was  not  by  any  means  the  creature  of  habit — 
quite  the  reverse ;  he  ate  when  he  was  hungry,  and 
would  have  slept  when  he  was  sleepy  without  reference 
to  the  rising  or  setting  of  the  sun,  had  his  father's  indul- 
gence gone  the  length  of  allowing  him,  which  it  did  not. 


QUIXSTAR.  45 

But  his  food  was  a  simple  affair;  his  portion  was  merely 
set  aside  to  stand  till  he  came  for  it,  so  that  his  erratic 
ways  did  not  throw  the  household  machinery  into  con- 
fusion. Indeed,  he  preferred  that  his  porridge  should 
stand  three  or  four  hours  only  covered  with  a  towel,  for 
then  they  had  got  a  thick  "  brat "  on  the  top,  which  he 
considered  a  peculiar  delicacy;  so  that,  except  during 
school  hours,  he  was  singularly  free  to  follow  out  his 
numerous  engagements. 

When  Peter  was  ushered  into  the  unwonted  splen- 
dor of  the  schoolmaster's  sitting-room  he  could  not 
quite  imitate  the  stoicism  of  the  North  American  Indians, 
who,  however  dumfoundered  on  seeing  the  triumphs  of 
civilization,  neither  uttered  a  sound  nor  moved  a  muscle. 
He  looked  sheepish.  He  found  the  company  already 
round  the  table.  Mr.  Gilbert  shook  hands  with  him  very 
kindly  and  said — 

"  I  hear  you  have  been  sailing  a  fleet  this  afternoon. 
Well,  we'll  see  how  fleet  you  can  all  be  in  disposing  of 
the  good  things,  and  how  fleet  you  can  be  in  learning 
your  lessons. — What  part  of  speech  is  fleet,  Mary,  my 
dear  ?  "  looking  at  his  youngest  daughter. 

"  A  noun." 

"  So  far  right.     Always  a  noun  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  a  prison,"  said  James  Raeburn.  (James 
Raeburn  was  one  of  Mrs.  Gilbert's  nephews,  who  had 
been  sent  to  Quixstar  for  his  health  and  education.) 

Mr.  Gilbert's  face  darkened  ;  he  was  jealous  that  his 
nephew  sometimes  tried  to  amuse  himself  at  his  expense. 
Mrs.  Gilbert  hastened  to  say — 

"  Yes,  James ;  quite  right. — Are  your  father  and 
mother  well,  Peter?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Is  your  father  busy  just  now  ?  He  must  give  us 
a  day  or  two  soon." 


46  QUIXSTAR. 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

Peter  answered  in  monosyllables ;  he  was  slightly 
overawed,  rather  an  unusual  circumstance  with  him. 
But  he  was  in  the  presence  of  "  the  maister,"  and  as  a 
guest  on  terms  of  comparative  equality,  and  therefore 
was  experiencing  a  novel  sensation, — besides,  the  scene 
was  imposing.  No  doubt,  if  Lady  Cranstoun  had  walked 
into  the  room,  with  its  IOAV  roof  and  papered  walls,  she 
might  have  thought  of  a  bandbox ;  and  its  little  windows 
hung  with  netted  curtains — Mrs.  Gilbert's  own  work — 
might  have  suggested  a  doll's  house  or  travelling  cara- 
van ;  and  it  is  likely  that  the  table  arrangements  would 
not  have  struck  her  as  being  all  that  elegance  and  luxury 
might  have  called  for;  but  you  see  she  was  at  one 
part  of  the  social  scale,  and  Peter  at  another ;  and  to  him 
everything  looked  grand.  Probably  if  he  had  been  let 
loose  either  in  the  schoolhouse  or  Cranstoun  Hall,  in  no 
long  time  familiarity  would  have  bred  not  contempt  but 
indifference,  as  it  always  does  with  respect  to  everything 
that  is  merely  external.  I  daresay  Lady  Cranstoun  often 
yawned  in  the  midst  of  her  luxurious  appointments,  and 
fell  into  a  nap  more  apoplectic  than  comfortable,  where 
the  doors  were  all  clad  in  cloth,  and  could  neither  bang 
nor  slam,  as  the  doors  of  humble  people  love  to  do. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gilbert  went  out  to  enjoy  an  evening 
walk  together,  and  Peter  got  over  his  bashfulness,  and 
was  persuaded  by  Tom  Sinclair  to  play  at  what  Tom 
called  draughts,  and  Peter  the  dambrod — a  game  suited 
to  the  taste  of  Tom,  slow  and  not  involving  active  exer- 
tion, but  which  Peter  would  play  fast,  for  he  saw  through 
the  moves,  and  made  up  his  mind  what  he  was  to  do  in 
an  instant,  whereas  his  opponent  hummed  and  hawed 
and  looked  very  wise  and  deliberate  before  he  stirred  a 
step.  James  Raeburn  was  writing  exei-cises  for  next 


QTJIXSTAR.  47 

day ;  and  the  four  girls  were  in  one  of  the  windows  talk- 
ing as  girls  talk,  the  chatter  being  as  natural  and,  if  you 
are  in  a  proper  mood,  as  pleasant  to  hear  as  the  song  of 
birds. 

John  Gilbert  was  standing  at  the  table,  and  the  atten- 
tion of  the  others  was  arrested  by  his  clearing  his  throat 
ostentatiously,  and  then  he  began  to  read  from  a  paper 
he  held  in  his  hand,  throwing  in  remarks  of  his  own  as 
he  went  on.  He  read — 

"  '  Clara  and  Julia  de  Lacy  were  the  daughters  of  a 
gentleman ' — I  should  rather  think  so.  '  Mr.  de  Lacy  had 
an  agreeable  person ' " — 

Erne  Sinclair  started  up  and  cried — "  Give  me  that 
paper,  John  Gilbert !  it's  mine.  Where  did  you  find  it  ?  " 

"  Prove  your  property ;  where  did  you  lose  it  ?  " — 
'  An  agreeable  person,' "  he  went  on,  " '  superior  abilities, 
and  an  engaging  address.' — Bravo." 

"  It's  a  shame  !  "  cried  Eflie.  "  Give  it  to  me  !  give 
it,  I  say  !  " 

Taking  no  notice,  he  continued,  " '  Clara  and  Julia 
were  tripping  across  the  velvet  sward  of  the  charming 
park  that  surrounded  the  mansion  of  Mr.  de  Lacy.  Clara 
looked  at  Julia  and  smiled;  she  was  about  to  make  an 
arch  remark.' — What  a  pity  she  did  not  make  it !  " 

The  tears  were  in  Erne's  eyes  as  she  tried  to  snatch 
the  paper  from  him.  He  mounted  a  chair  and  resumed — 

" '  An  arch  remark,  when  a  woman  was  seen  ap- 
proaching, startling  the  timid  deer  as  they  browsed 
peacefully  under  the  shade  of  oak  and  cedar '  " — 

"  Will  none  of  you  help  to  take  that  from  him  ? " 
cried  Erne. 

Peter  rose  from  his  game.  "  Gie  the  lassie  her 
paper,"  he  said. 

"  Give  her  that,"  said  John,  taking  his  handkerchief 


48  QUIXSTAR. 

out ;  "  give  her  that  to  weep  in.  It's  clean,  Effie ;  I  have 
not  used  it. — '  Shade  of  oak  and  cedar.  The  woman  was 
decently  but  poorly  clad  ;  and  when  she  came  near,  she 
courtesied  and  requested  charity.'  " 

"  You  have  no  business  to  read  that !  "  Effie  cried. 
"  What  a  shame  !  " 

"  Gie  her  the  paper,"  Peter  repeated.  "  Do  ye  want 
a  het  lug  ?  "  and  he  doubled  his  fist  near  John's  head. 
"  Gie  her't  at  ance,  and  be  dune  wi't." 

" '  My  good  woman,  said  Clara,'  "  John  pursued  in  a 
kind  of  solemn  chant ;  " '  my  good  woman,  on  principle 
I  never  give  indiscriminate  charity.' — Goodness,  Effie  ! 
what  kind  of  charity  is  that  ?  "  asked  John. 

Effie  disappeared,  rushed  to  Jane  Gilbert's  room,  flung 
herself  on  the  bed,  and  gave  way  to  a  passion  of  tears, — 
she  knew  quite  well  what  should  be  done  on  such  an  oc- 
casion ;  and  then  she  paced  the  floor  of  the  apartment 
to  fill  up  the  measure  of  what  is  expected  of  a  heroine. 
Her  sister  and  Jane  and  Mary  Gilbert  entreated  for  ad- 
mittance in-  vain.  "  Peter  Veitch,"  they  said, "  had  res- 
cued her  paper — here  it  was.  Would  she  not  let  them  in  ?" 

"  There's  no  use  minding  what  John  does  ;  he  likes 
mischief, — all  boys  do,"  his  sister  says. 

"  Effie,  either  speak  or  open  the  door  at  once,"  Bell 
Sinclair  says,  "  or  we'll  think  something  has  happened  to 
you.  Oh,  Effie,  speak." 

Thus  adjured,  Effie  unlocked  the  door  and  admitted 
her  friends. 

"  Now  Effie,"  her  sister  said,  "  if  you  had  had  the 
b^nse  to  take  no  notice  of  John,  he  would  soon  have 
stopped  reading ;  he  only  did  it  to  tease  you." 

"  It  was  very  rude,"  sobbed  Effie,  "  and  you  all 
laughed." 

"We  could  not  help  it,"  said  Bell;  "he  did  it  so 
cleverly." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MRS.  SINCLAIR  sat  up  late  that  night  composing  a 
letter  to  Mr.  Gilbert.  She  liked  to  compose  a  letter, 
and  the  occasion  was  a  good  one.  She  said — 

"  DEAR  SIR — When  I  came  to  reside  at  Quixstar 
with  my  dear  fatherless  children,  the  subject  of  their 
education  cost  me  much  anxious  thought — it  could  not 
be  otherwise.  From  what  I  had  heard  of  you  previous 
to  my  arrival,  and  after  that  step  was  taken,  I  said, 
'  Here  now  is  a  man  to  whom  I  can,  D.V., 'commit  those 
dear  children.'  My  anxiety  was  lessened,  my  burden 
was  lessened  so  far  as  you  were  concerned,  my  only 
remaining  dubiety  was,  '  Can  I  allow  my  children  to  mix 
with  the  children  of  the  humbler  classes  of  the  com- 
munity ? '  I  made  up  my  mind  to  run  that  risk  for  a  time, 
believing  that  the  advantages  counterbalanced  the  dis- 
advantages. I  made  up  my  mind  to  allow  my  children 
to  run  that  risk  during  school  hours,  with  the  full  res- 
olution to  preserve  them  as  much  as  in  me  lay  from  such 
contact  when  not  absolutely  necessary.  In  accepting 
your  hospitality  for  them  this  evening  I  could  by  no 
possibility  foresee  that  they  would  be  exposed  to  mixed 
company,  nor  that  they  would  be  subjected  to  such  rude- 
ness as  has  shaken  the  nerves  of  my  darling,  sensitive 
Erne.  I  don't  object  to  the  boy  Veitch's  character;  I 
fully  believe  that  he  is  honest  and  truthful ;  but  he  is 
not  the  style  of  boy  I  wish  my  children  to  associate  with, 
although  his  behavior  appears,  from  what  I  can  gather, 


50  QUIXSTAR. 

to  contrast  favorably  with  that  of — I  am  forced  to  say  it 
— of  your  own  son.  The  error  was  in  leaving  them 
without  superintendence.  My  object  in  writing  is  to 
give  my  opinion,  so  that  the  same  thing  may  not  occur 
again,  which  I  think  better  than  to  withdraw  my  chil- 
dren from  your  care  at  once,  without  assigning  a  reason. 
— I  am,  very  sincerely  yours,  E.  SINCLAIR." 

When  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  finished  this  letter  she  read 
it  over  and  admired  it — she  was  in  the  habit  of  admiring 
her  own  work,  as  also  had  been  the  late  Mr.  Sinclair ; 
she  had  liked  to  hear  him  say,  "  Yes,  my  dear,  that's 
just  the  thing — very  good  indeed,"  and  she  thought  she 
could  not  do  better  than  give  his  brother  the  same  op- 
portunity. "  There  is  nothing  a  man  likes  better,"  she 
thought,  "  than  to  talk  things  over  with  an  intelligent 
wroman.  I  am  not  clever  nor  intellectual,  far  less  strong- 
minded,  but  I  may  claim  to  be  intelligent  without  much 
presumption." 

Next  morning  the  first  thing  she  did  on  going  down 
stairs  was  to  glance  over  the  newspaper,  as  was  her 
habit,  and  when  Mr.  Sinclair  arrived  she  gave  him  the 
benefit  of  her  newly  acquired  information.  Now  a  man, 
or  at  least  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Sinclair,  to  whom  his  news- 
paper is  a  part  of  his  day,  does  not  like  to  have  the  tid- 
bits torn  out  and  thrust  before  him  raw  and  mangled, 
any  more  than  he  would  like  to  sit  down  to  an  ill-got-up 
beef-steak  half  an  hour  before  dinner ;  but  Mrs.  Sinclair 
would  have  lived  with  her  brother  a  thousand  years  and 
not  have  discovered  this,  so  she  continued  the  practice, 
secure  that  she  gave  him  much  pleasure.  After  the 
IH.-WS,  she  handed  him  her  letter  to  read,  asking  his 
opinion  of  it.  When  he  had  read  it,  she  said,  "  Well  ?" 
She  had  watched  his  face,  but  gathered  nothing  from  it. 


QUIXSTAR.  51 

"  I  would  not  send  that,"  he  said. 

"  Not  send  it !     What  would  you  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  I  would  put  it  in  the  fire." 

"  For  what  reason  ?  " 

"  What's  the  use  of  making  an  ado  about  nothing  ?  " 

"  Do  you  call  the  influences  that  surround  my  chil- 
dren in  their  most  plastic  years  nothing  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't ;  but  that  boy  Veitch  is  as  good  as 
them  any  day ;  you  can't  expect  boys  to  behave  them- 
selves from  morning  to  night  like  good  children  in  a 
story-book." 

"  If  my  children  are  to  learn  to  speak  like  the  boy 
Veitch,  how  are  they  to  get  on  in  life  ?  " 

"If  they  have  anything  worth  saying  they'll  manage 
to  say  it.  It  would  be  well  if  Tom  had  as  much  energy 
in  all  his  body  as  Veitch  has  in  his  little  finger." 

"Tom's  energy  is  latent  yet;  poor  boy,  he  is  not 
over  strong." 

The  children  coming  in  to  breakfast,  the  lady,  as  was 
meet,  had  the  last  word. 

Mr.  Sinclair  was  not  the  sort  of  uncle  he  might  have 
been.  He  was  not  the  wicked  uncle  of  the  old  times, 
but  neither  was  he  the  genial  uncle  of  the  period.  All 
the  notice  he  took  of  his  nieces  and  nephew  on  this  oc- 
casion, for  instance,  was  to  look  up  from  his  newspaper, 
push  the  bread  toward  Tom,  and  say,  "  Eat,  child,  eat, 
or  you'll  die  of  inanition." 

Now  if  Mr.  Sinclair  did  not  notice  what  Tom  was 
about,  he  was  blind ;  and  if  he  did  notice,  he  was  satiri- 
cal, and  satire  is  a  weapon  to  be  kept  for  occasion. 

Bell  laughed,  and  Eifie  whispered,  "  What  is  inani- 
tion ?  " 

Said  Bell,  "  I  suppose  it  is  a  disease  people  take  who 
don't  eat  enough  ;  we  need  not  be  frightened  about  Tom ; 


52  QUIXSTAR. 

he's  like  Sancho  Panza,  he  always  eats  as  if  he  might  not 
see  food  in  a  hurry  again." 

"  Child,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair,  once  more  looking  up 
from  his  paper,  "  what  do  you  know  about  Sancho 
Panza?" 

"  That  he  was  fond  of  eating,"  said  Bell  promptly. 

"  Tom,  my  boy,"  said  his  mother,  "  a  little  more 
ham  ?  Never  be  ashamed  of  a  good  appetite,  rather  be 
thankful  for  it." 

Tom  was  not  in  the  least  ashamed  of  it,  and  took 
more  ham. 

When  they  were  leaving  the  room,  Mr.  Sinclair  said 
quite  suddenly,  "  As  the  weather  is  fine,  I'll  take  you  to 
see  the  glen  to-day." 

This  had  an  uncle-ish  sound,  if  it  had  not  been  such 
a  bare  statement,  and  been  felt  to  be  a  command,  like 
an  invitation  from  royalty,  so  that  there  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  comply. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair,  "  I  have  an  engage- 
ment that  will  prevent  me  accompanying  you." 

"  The  children  can  go  without  you,  I  suppose  ?  "  said 
Mi-.  Sinclair  curtly. 

"  Oh,  certainly,  they  can  go  without  me,  but — 

"  Very  well,  they'll  go." 

The  children  had  their  own  plans  for  the  Saturday 
holiday,  and  would  much  rather  have  declined  the  expe- 
dition in  such  company,  which  was  exactly  what  Mr. 
Sinclair  Avould  have  done  too  if  it  had  been  a  matter  of 
taste  with  him,  but  it  was  a  matter  of  duty ;  he  wanted, 
if  possible,  to  look  further  into  the  natures  of  his  broth- 
er's children,  and  he  thought  that  he  was  making  a  good 
opportunity  for  that  purpose. 

Some  miles  above  Quixstar  the  glen  of  the  Eden  was 
worth  going  a  good  way  to  see.  There  was  a  ruin  of  an 


QUIXSTAR.  53 

old  castle  perched  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  and  there  . 
was  a  modern  house  on  a  less  painful  elevation,  the  pro- 
prietor of  which  did  not  allow  the  public  to  drive  through 
his  grounds ;  but  on  certain  days,  in  consideration  of  a 
silver  piece  paid  at  the  gate,  people  were  at  liberty  to 
walk  through  them.  Mr.  Sinclair  and  his  young  friends 
alighted  at  the  gate,  and  leaving  the  dusty  road  entered 
fairy-land.  But  fairy-lands  in  the  form  of  emerald  turf 
and  flowerbeds  of  all  shapes  and  every  bright  contrasting 
hue,  kept  in  such  order  that  you  would  think  some  invisi- 
ble being  with  a  penknife  was  continually  on  the  watch 
to  lop  any  pushing  blade  of  grass  or  rash  bud  or  blossom 
that  overstepped  bounds,  are  not  in  these  days  confined 
to  the  grounds  of  landowners ;  advancing  taste  has 
brought  them  even  to  the  poor  man's  door.  Old  Battle 
House  was  equal,  in  this  respect  to  Eden  Castle ;  but 
when  the  visitors  went  on  a  little  they  stopped  beside  a 
low  stone  fence,  and  those  who  dared  looked  over  it 
down  a  wall  of  living  rock  that  descended  and  descended 
sheer  down  so  far  that  the  water  below  looked  like  a 
thread,  and  a  horse  in  the  valley  like  an  ant.  It  made 
one  shudder.  It  was  a  wild,  rocky,  mountain-looking 
feature  set  among  the  lazy  gentle  scenery  round  it.  They 
must  have  been  people  with  clear  heads  and  strong  minds 
that  lived  in  that  old  castle.  No  doubt  it  was  founded 
on  a  rock,  only  a  modern  lady  looking  out  of  one  of  its 
windows  overhanging  that  frightful  precipice  would  have 
felt  her  nerves  tingle  to  her  finger-ends ;  but  in  those 
days,  likely,  people  ignored  nerves  altogether.  The 
Eden  came  lingeringly  through  the  glen,  as  if  loath  to 
leave  it,  and  gave  nature  ample  time  to  set  off  the  exceed- 
ing beauty  and  richness  of  her  green  robe  with  its  silver 
sheen.  As  far  as  you  could  follow  its  windings,  the  glen 
was  thickly  wooded  ;  away  in  the  distance  the  top  of  a 


54  QUIXSTAR. 

bill  appeared,  filling  up  the  background,  and  giving  the 
finishing  touch  to  the  picture.  The  trees  could  not  be 
very  ancient,  few  of  them  looked  so,  but  the  hill  had 
stood  there  as  sentry  for  ages. 

During  their  drive  Mr.  Sinclair  had  given  the  chil- 
dren a  brief  statement  concerning  the  historical  mem- 
ories of  the  place,  and  when  he  brought  them  to  the 
edge  of  the  precipice,  and  told  them  it  was  thought  that 
possibly  Shakspeare*  had  stood  on  that  spot  and  looked 
at  that  same  scene,  he  expected  their  faces  to  kindle 
and  their  tongues  to  burst  into  notes  of  admiration. 

Effie  ran  back  frightened  and  in  dismay.  Bell  and 
Tom  looked  about  with  as  much  expression  in  their 
faces  as  a  pair  of  sheep,  and  said  nothing.  This  shows 
that  these  young  people  were  not  quite  of  to-day. 
Children  of  to-day  are  equal  to  any  emergency,  even  to 
patronizing  and  drawing  out  an  elderly  relative ;  but 
at  this  time  they  still  had  a  sense  of  awe  and  reverence, 
and  were  apt  on  occasion  to  be  bashful.  Besides,  these 
children  felt  anything  but  at  home  with  their  uncle,  and 
older  people  than  children  must  feel  at  home  and  secure 
of  their  ground  before  they  shine  in  any  degree. 

There  they  stood,  and  there  Mr.  Sinclair  stood 
watching  them,  but  no  chink  appeared  through  which 
he  could  get  a  peep  into  their  minds,  and  he  came  to 
the  conclusion  that,  as  mind  did  not  break  out,  there 
must  be  a  very  small  modicum  of  it  in  possession. 
However,  if  Shakspeare  had  lurked  in  Quixstar,  neither 
Mr.  Sinclair  nor  Mr.  Kennedy  was  the  man  to  find  him 
out  any  more  than  Sir  Thomas  Lucy.  It  takes  some- 
thing of  Shakspeare  to  discover  Shakspeare. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  we'll  walk  round,  and  see  how  it 
looks  from  below." 

*  A  mistake  of  Mr.  Sinclair's,  surely. 


QUIXSTAR.  55 

"  Will  it  be  a  long  time  till  we  have  dinner  ?  "  said 
Tom.  .  * 

"Two  hours.  You're  not  hungry,  are  you?"  said 
Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  Mamma  gave  me  some  sandwiches,"  said  Bell, 
"  but  I  forgot,  and  left  them  at  the  gate." 

"  Very  like  a  girl,"  said  Tom.  "  Run  back,  Effie, 
and  bring  them  ;  you'll  do  it  in  a  minute." 

Effie  ran.  These  girls  were  taught  indirectly,  if  not 
directly,  to  think  their  brother  a  superior  being,  and  he 
was  nothing,  loath  to  avail  himself  of  his  superiority. 
He  started  with  capital  vantage-ground,  if  he  could  only 
keep  it.  Effie  was  good-natured,  and  obeyed.  Bell, 
with  prophetic  stirrings  of  the  present  movement,  was 
more  apt  to  stand  out  for  her  rights.  Tom  consumed  what 
of  the  provender  he  wanted,  then  gave  his  sisters  the 
diminished  pai'cel  to  carry.  Mr.  Sinclair,  observing  the 
action,  wheeled  round,  and  said,  "  Carry  that  yourself, 
Tom,"  whereupon  Tom,  not  expecting  to  need  more 
till  he  got  home,  left  it  behind  him  to  save  himself 
trouble.  Comparatively  few  human  beings  need  to  be 
carefully  trained  to  selfishness. 

They  took  the  path  that  led  down  into  the  glen, 
then  turned  and  came  below  the  precipice.  Mr.  Sin- 
clair thought  that  if  looking  over  it  had  failed,  looking 
up  at  it  might  be  a  success ;  but  still  the  oracles  were 
dumb — at  least  when  he  was  within  hearing,  oV,  when 
tln'y  spoke,  it  was  not  of  battlemented  crags.  "There's 
a  lady  sketching,"  said  Effie ;  "  it's  Miss  Raeburn." 
Turning  round,  Mr.  Sinclair  saw  Miss  Raeburn,  and 
being  slightly  acquainted  he  went  up  and  spoke  to  her, 
and  looked  at  her  work.  Of  course  it  was  the  ruin  on 
the  top  of  the  rock. 

"  Do  you  like  that  kind  of  work,  Miss  Raeburn  ?  " 


56  QUIXSTAR. 

"  I  like  it,  and  I  don't  like  it.  I  like  if  I  may  but 
touch  the  hem  of  Art's  garment,  but  I  am  always  kept 
in  the  valley  of  humiliation." 

It  is  diverting  to  watch  an  interview  between  a  ro- 
manticish  lady  and  a  straight-forward  business  man. 
If  Miss  Raeburn  had  heard  another  person  address  Mr. 
Sinclair  in  this  strain  she  would  have  laughed.  "  You 
see,"' she  said,  "  it  is  intended  for  the  old  castle,  but  it  is 
like  the  leaning  tower  of  Pisa." 

"  You  have  not  got  the  moon  in  yet ;  I  notice  ruins 
always  have  a  moon  in  the  right-hand  corner." 

Miss  Raeburn  looked  to  see  if  Mr.  Sinclair  had  the 
hardihood  to  laugh  at  her  work  to  her  face,  but  he 
seemed  serious  enough,  and  she  said,  "  No ;  it  is  not  a 
moonlight  scene." 

A  man,  Dixon  by  name — a  jobbing  gardener  from 
Quixstar — happened  to  be  mowing  a  patch  of  ferns  not 
far  off.  He  came  up  wTith  a  plant  in  his  hand,  and  said, 
"  See,  Miss  Raeburn,  is  this  what  ye  was  wantin'  ?  " 
Then,  looking  at  Mr.  Sinclair,  he  said,  "  A  heap  o'  folk 
mak'  an  unco  waivk  about  brackens  noo-a-days ;  for  my 
part,  I  never  use  them  for  onythingbut  to  bed  the  sow." 

"  That  is  a  charming  association,"  said  Miss  Raeburn, 
"  but  I'll  keep  this. — Thank  you,  Dixon,  I  am  a  little 
fernytickled." 

"  They  are  pretty. — How  grand  that  rock  looks 
from  here!"  said  Mr.  Sinclair.  "Well,  good-bye,  I 
won't  interrupt  you  farther,"  and  he  went  on  in  pursuit 
of  his  juvenile  party,  who  Avere  playing  at  hide-and-seek 
among  the  trees,  and  he  thought,  "  It's  a  pity  Miss 
Raeburn  should  spend  her  time  on  what  she'll  never 
make  anything  of;  but  it's  often  the  Avay  with  women  : 
they  have  no  notion  of  the  A7alue  of  time,  or  of  the  folly 
of  trying  things  beyond  their  poAver." 


QUIXSTAK.  57 

"  Here,  Tom,"  he  cried,  "  bring  your  sisters.  We 
must  be  going  home  now." 

Thus  ended  Mr.  Sinclair's  first  planned  attempt  to 
watch  the  young  idea  shooting,  and  although  it  had 
resolutely  refused  to  shoot,  he  felt  that  he  had  done  his 
duty. 

Who  was  Miss  Raeburn  ?  Briefly,  she  was  a  sister 
of  that  Mr.  Raeburn  who  had  married  Mrs.  Gilbert's 
sister,  and  she  lived  in  the  aristocratic  part  of  Quixstar. 
3* 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  oftener  Mrs.  Sinclair  read  over  her  letter  to 
the  schoolmaster  she  was  the  more  convinced  of  the 
propriety  of  sending  it.  In  business  matters  Mr.  Sin- 
clair might  be  a  competent  enough  adviser,  but  on  an 
occasion  of  this  kind  on  her  must  rest  the  responsibility  ; 
and  she  sent  it. 

When  Mr.  Gilbert  got  it  he  was  so  far  gratified. 
It  was  written  in  a  copperplateish  hand,  on  thick 
cream  paper,  and  bestowed  in  an  envelope  to  match 
— paper  and  envelope  being  stamped  with  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair's monogram,  the  letters  E.  and  S.  felicitously 
twisted  together.  The  material  clothing  of  a  letter 
never  passed  unnoticed  by  Mr.  Gilbert.  Sometimes  he 
got  notes  from  the  parents  of  his  scholars  written  on  a 
half  sheet  of  paper  which  had  evidently  been  torn  from 
its  other  half  after  a  journey  by  post,  and  once  even  an 
envelope  had  been  sent  with  a  name  printed  on  it,  and 
marked  out,  and  his  (Mr.  Gilbert's)  name  substituted. 
Think  of  it — an  envelope  that  had  been  enclosed  in  a 
circular  all  ready  to  be  despatched  to  a  gentleman  who 
wished  to  push  the  business  of  tuning  pianos  ! 

One  man  would  have  read  such  missives  and 
thought  no  more  about  them,  another  would  have  no- 
ticed and  smiled,  but  this  was  a  small  style  of  iron  that 
entered  Mr.  Gilbert's  soul.  Very  likely  the  people  who 
do  these  things  intend  no  disrespect :  they  are  merely 


QUIXSTAR.  59 

thrifty  souls  who  will  let  nothing  be  lost ;  but  Mr.  Gil- 
bert argued  that  if  they  had  been  writing  to  Sir  Richard 
Cranstoun,  or  even  Mr.  Kennedy,  they  would  have 
been  more  choice  in  their  stationery;  and  he  was 
wroth,  and  the  comfort  of  his  day  was  gone,  and  not 
only  the  comfort  of  his  day,  but  that  of  his  wife's  also 
— not  that  such  a  thing  could  ruffle  her,  but  she  was 
vexed  through  her  husband.  However,  taking  the  let- 
ter altogether,  there  was  not  wanting  something  sooth- 
ing to  Mr.  Gilbert.  He  gave  it  to  his  wife  to  read.  It 
was  what  she  expected ;  the  intimacy  had  been  too 
sudden  and  close  to  last.  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  walked 
into  their  house  and  out  of  it  at  all  hours ;  she  had 
praised  Mrs.  Gilbert  and  her  arrangements,  and  Mr. 
Gilbert  and  his — everything  was  perfection,  and  she 
was  all  butter  and  honey ;  but  Mrs.  Gilbert  had  been 
long  enough  in  the  world  to  know  that  this  was  not 
likely  to  go  on ;  so  had  Mr.  Gilbert,  but  he  did  not 
know  it.  There  are  people  who  are  as  ready  to  believe 
what  they  wish  to  believe  this  week  as  they  were  last 
week,  although  last  week's  belief  has  proved  an  utter  ab- 
surdity ;  and  people  too  with  powei's  both  of  mind  and 
observation  will  go  on  in  this  way  to  the  end  of  their 
days,  a  new  disappointment  only  leading  to  a  new  belief. 
Mrs.  Gilbert  did  not  say,  "  I  told  you  so," — she  had 
not  told  him  so,  she  knew  better ;  nor  did  she  say, 
"  Just  what  I  expected," — there  are  cases  in  which 
both  wives  and  husbands  have  to  be  careful  of  what 
they  say  to  each  other.  But  Mr.  Gilbert  said,  "  That's 
what's  come  of  having  the  boy  Veitch  the  other  night. 
I  thought  at  the  time  it  was  not  very  prudent.  It 
seems  she  had  heard  of  me  before  she  came  here." 
Now  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  related  this  circumstance  nearly 
everv  time  she  had  seen  either  the  schoolmaster  or  his 


60  QUIXSTAR. 

wife.  "  It's  a  pity,"  Mr.  Gilbert  continued,  "  for  she 
seemed  a  woman  of  sense." 

"  It  appears  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Gilbert,  "  that  there 
is  rather  a  want  of  sense  in  expecting  to  dictate  to  us 
who  we  are  to  have  in  our  house,  and  who  we  are  not : 
and  if  she  judged  by  her  own  feelings,  she  might  know 
that  we  are  quite  as  anxious  about  our  children  as  she 
can  be  about  hers." 

"  That's  all  true,"  Mr.  Gilbert  said,  "  but  you  miss 
the  point ;  you  are  apt  to  be  not  very  logical.  Her  letter 
may  be  senseless  and  impertinent ;  but  there  are  ranks 
in  society,  and  I  thought  at  the  time  it  was  injudicious 
to  have  the  boy  Veitch."' 

"  I  like  Peter  Veitch." 

"  There  now — that's  no  reason." 

"  I  was  not  giving  it  as  a  reason ;  I  was  only  stating 
it  as  a  fact.  But  do  you  notice  what  she  says  about 
John  ?  That's  a  much  more  serious  affair.  I  should 
be  sony  if  he  has  been  rude." 

"  He'll  have  to  apologize ;  what  else  can  we  do  ? 
And  after  all,  she  will  likely  withdraw  her  children 
from  the  school." 

"  Very  well ;  she  must  just  withdraw'  them." 

"  But  it's  discouraging,"  said  Mr.  Gilbert.  "  It's  not 
merely  the  loss  of  three  pupils,  although  that's  something. 
A  man  condemned  to  toil  in  a  place  like  this  needs 
encouragement." 

"  And  first  and  last  you  nave  got  a  good  deal.  I 
like  the  place ;  I  don't  know  where  I  would  be  happier." 

"  Is  that  true  now  ?  Would  you  not  like  to  see  your 
husband  in  a  better  position  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  ambitious,"  she  said.  "  I  suppose  men 
have  more  of  that  than  women.  My  only  ambition  is 
that  our  children  do  well." 


QUIXSTAR.  m  61 

"  They  would  be  none  the  less  likely  to  do  well  if 
their  father  did  better.  If  a  man  could  only  get  out  of 
this  hole  into  a  place  where  there  was  some  scope ! " 

"  By  '  do  well '  I  did  not  mean  worldly  success,  al- 
though that  is  very  good  when  it  comes. — Well,  will 
you  write  to  Mrs.  Sinclair,  or  shall  I  ?  Perhaps  it  would 
be  better  for  you  to  do  it — more  respectful  ?  " 

Mrs.  Gilbert  got  this  delicate  piece  of  business  to 
do,  and  did  it  so  well  that  the  cloud  which  had  gathered 
so  ominously  dispersed;  the  signal  was  "Lower  drum," 
and  there  was  fair  weather. 

Thus  was  Peter  Veitch  tabooed  by  Mrs.  Sinclair, 
but,  being  happily  unconscious  of  it,  neither  his  health 
•  nor  spirits  were  affected :  he  pursued  his  pleasure  and 
business  with  unabated  energy.  It  was  sometimes  his 
business,  when  there  was  a  pressure  of  work,  to  help  his 
father  for  the  two  hours  between  leaving  school  in  the 
afternoon  and  six  o'clock,  when  the  labors  of  the  day 
stopped.  If  Mrs.  Sinclair  saw  him  at  work  in  the  gar- 
den at  Old  Battle  House  she  considered  him  in  his  proper 
place,  and  approved  of  him,  and  even  if  she  happened 
to  be  passing  would  stop  to  notice  him. 

One  evening  he  was  working  in  front  of  the  windows 
of  Mr.  Sinclair's  sitting-room,  when  the  steeple-clock 
struck  the  hour  of  liberation.  A  little  before,  Mr.  Sin- 
clair "had  thrown  open  one  of  the  windows,  and  then 
Peter  had  noticed  him  go  out  at  the  garden  gate.  The 
room  was  empty.  He  went  forward  to  the  window  and 
looked  in,  then  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  sill  and  swung 
himself  up  like  a  monkey,  went  in,  and  stood  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  floor,  looking  curiously  all  round.  He 
stretched  himself  on  a  sofa,  and  the  cushion  sank  below 
his  weight — he  had  never  known  such  a  luxurious  sen- 
sation. He  rose  and  went  to  an  easy-chair  which  was 


62  QUIXSTAR. 

basking  vacantly  by  the  side  of  the  fire.  It  was  getting 
dark  of  an  autumn  afternoon,  and  the  warmth  and  glow 
of  dim  light  had  a  soothing  and  eerie  effect  in  the 
gloaming.  He  sank  into  the  chair,  and  leaned  his  head 
on  the  back  of  it.  He  knew  he  should  not  be  there ; 
but  he  also  knew  he  was  doing  no  harm — he  was  merely 
trying  what  kind  of  a  thing  it  would  be  to  be  a  gentle- 
man, and  he  was  fond  of  experiments  of  all  kinds.  His 
eye  fell  on  the  handle  of  the  bell,  and  without  hesitation 
he  rang  it  so  vigorously  that  he  heard  it  sounding  in  the 
distance,  and  lay  back  in  his  chair  again  to  see  what 
would  happen. 

Miss  Fairgrieve  started  when  she  heard  Mr.  Sinclair's 
bell  ring  with  such  violence.  She  generally  knew  every- 
thing, and  she  knew  that  the  only  persons  in  the  house 
at  that  moment  were  herself  and  Bell,  who  was  in  the 
dining-room.  Her  shrewdness  notwithstanding,  she 
was  superstitious.  She  knew  a  thief  would  not  ring  a 
bell,  consequently  it  must  be  a  ghost.  She  went  to  the 
..dining-room  and  said  to  Bell — 

"  Did  you  hear  your  uncle's  bell  ring  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  did." 

"  What  could  ring  it  ?  "  said  Maddy,  who,  brave  in 
the  face  of  mortal,  felt  stricken  by  the  mystery. 

"  Uncle,  likely,"  said  Bell. 

"  But  he's  not  in.  There's  not  a  living  soul  in  the 
house  but  you  and  me.  What  do  you  think  did  it  ?  " 

"  The  easiest  way  to  find  out  would  be  to  go  and 
see." 

Maddy  did  not  move.     Bell  laughed. 

"  Capital !  "  she  cried ;  t;  you  are  frightened,  Maddy ! 
Come,  and  I'll  take  care  of  you." 

Another  imperious  ring  wTas  heard. 

"  It's  some  one  in  a  hurry,  certainly,"  said  Bell. 


QUIXSTAR.  63 

"  Maybe  it's  the  Evil  One !  "  said  Maddy. 

When  they  opened  the  door  a  commanding  voice 
said — 

"  Light  the  gas  there,  wjll  you  ?  What's  the  mean- 
ing of  this  dawdling  ?  " 

"  Bless  me  !  it's  a  human  being  after  a',"  said  Maddy, 
as,  her  courage  suddenly  restored,  she  went  boldly  in, 
followed  by  Bell.  But  Peter  was  hidden  in  the  shadow, 
as  he  lay  back  in  his  luxurious  chair. 

Bell  seized  the  poker  and  stirred  up  a  flame,  which 
revealed  the  boy  lying  lazily  with  his  eyes  half  shut,  and 
a  smile  lurking  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"  It's  you,  ye  little  impudent  monkey  !  "  said  Maddy, 
in  angry  vexation  at  having  revealed  her  vulnerable 
point. 

"  Maddy  expected  to  see  horns  and  hoofs,"  said  Bell. 

"  What  business  have  ye  to  fricht  folk  that  gate  ?  " 
asked  Maddy. 

"  I  didna  think  onybody  would  be  frichted,"  Peter 
said,  lolling  in  the  chair.  "  Eh,  it  wad  be  fine  to  be  a 
man  in  authority  !  " 

"  A  man  in  authority,  ye  little  mischief!  What  puts 
the  like  o'  that  in  your  head  ?  " 

"  Why  shouldn't  it  be  in  his  head,  Maddy  ? "  said 
Bell.  "  There's  nothing  to  hinder  him  being  a  man  in 
authority  if  he  likes." 

Peter  was  looking  round  on  the  book-cases. 

"  Has  your  uncle — has  Mr.  Sinclair,  read  a'  thae 
books  ?  "  he  asked. 

;'  Read  them ! "  Maddy  answered ;  "  no'  the  half  o' 
them,  nor  the  quarter,  I'll  wager.  He'll  hae  ane  out  for 
weeks  and  weeks,  aye  the  same  ane,  and  he'll  be  writing 
wi'  a  pencil  on  bits  o'  paper — writing  ye  can  neither 
mak'  heads  nor  tails  o'." 


64  QUIXSTAR. 

"  Uncle  is  fond  of  mathematics,"  said  Bell.  "  It's  the 
differential  calculus  he's  working  at." 

"  It's  no  different ;  it's  aye  the  same  thing,"  said 
Maddy.  "  I'm  sure  if  I  had  fiddled  as  lang  at  onything, 
I  wad  hae  made  something  o't.  But  men  are  slow — 
most  awfu'  slow." 

"  But  they  are  sure,  Maddy,  and  know  the  reasons 
of  things.  That's  what  makes  them  superior,  they  say." 

"  Superior  !  "  said  Maddy,  "  is  there  ony  superiority 
in  taking  a  roundabout  road  when  ye  can  get  a  short 
cut?" 

"  Well,  but  they  say  a  bee  can  take  a  short  cut." 

"  Weel,  men  should  think  shame  if  a  bee  can  beat 
them  for  common  sense." 

"  It  must  be  grand,"  said  Peter,  "  to  ken  a'  that's  in 
thae  books." 

"  If  ye  could  mak'  ony  use  o't,"  said  Maddy.  "  But 
I  had  a  cousin  ;  his  faitherwas  a  rich  man,  an' he  thought 
edication  was  everything,  an'  he  gied  the  laddie  his  fill 
o'  edication — just  his  fill,  and  he  had  naething  to  do  but 
tak'  it  in.  And  what  did  he  ever  mak'  o't  ?  Naething. 
He's  just  a  minister  in  some  wee  bit  country  place.  Ye 
never  hear  tell  o'  him — ye  never  see  his  name  in  the 
papers." 

Maddy,  you  see,  had  no  idea  of  passive  genius — the 
dumb  ones  of  heaven. 

"  But  he'll  ken  a  heap,"  said  Peter.  "  It  wad  be  fine 
to  be  Mr.  Sinclair,  and  sit  in  this  chair  and  read  thae 
books  whenever  ye  liket." 

"  Maybe  he  thinks  it  wad  be  fine  to  be  you,"  said 
Maddy. 

"  Maybe  !  "  said  Peter  ironically. 

"Weel,"  said  Maddy,  "how  would  ye  like  if  ye 
couldna  see  a  thing  without  spectacles  ?  " 


QUIXSTAB.  65 

"  I  dinna  ken.  I  often  hear  my  faither  say  they're  a 
great  blessing." 

"  Oh,  nae  doubt  they're  better  than  being  clean 
blind.  But  how  wad  ye  like,  if  ye  had  had  a  watch  wi' 
a  yellow  face  and  yellow  hands  a'  your  days,  to  have  to 
tak'  to  ane  wi'  a  white  face  and  black  hands  ?  " 

"  What  hardship  wad  that  be  ? "  asked  Peter,  not 
perceiving  the  point. 

It  might  have  been  thought  that  this  recent  slight 
change  in  Mr.  Sinclair's  arrangements  would  have  passed 
unnoticed ;  but  what  escapes  sharp  feminine  eyes  ? 

"  Uncle's  sight  must  be  failing — it  must  be  a  curious 
thing  to  wear  spectacles,"  Bell  said  meditatively ;  "  surely 
people  so  old  as  that  would  never  think  of  marrying  ; 
mamma  is  always  afraid  of  uncle  marrying ;  she  says  he 
is  sure  to  marry  a  servant." 

"  A  servant !  "  cried  Maddy,  "  he  shouldna  fling  him- 
sel'  away  on  a  servant ;  a  servant  can  do  her  ain  turn — 
she's  independent ;  he  should  marry  ane  o1  the  kind  o' 
beings  that  are  fit  for  naething  in  this  world,  and  yet 
maun  live — that's  the  kind  o'  thing  he  should  marry." 

"  There  he  is,"  said  Bell ;  "  I  hear  him  coming  in. 

Peter  jumped  up  and  darted  through  the  window 
like  a  bird,  Maddy  began  to  replenish  the  fire,  and  Bell 
busied  herself  closing  the  shutters,  while  the  object  of 
their  remarks  walked  into  his  room  marvellously  uncon- 
scious of  the  charming  line  of  usefulness  that  had  been 
chalked  out  for  him. 


CHAPTER  X. 

How,  with  his  peculiar  touchy  nature,  did  Mr. 
Gilbert  get  on  in  his  school  ?  Not  well,  you  think,  for 
boys  and  girls  have  a  speciality  for  finding  out  raw 
spots — they  don't  see,  nor  analyze,  nor  synthesize,  but 
they  discover,  simply,  as  all  discoveries  are  made,  and 
then  they  feel  the  importance  of  their  discovery,  and  put 
it  to  good  use  one  way  or  another. 

But  nature  had  been  kind  to  Mr.  Gilbert  in  ex- 
te"Vnally  fitting  him  up  ready-made  for  his  profession. 
He  was  of  a  fair  average  height,  he  had  dark  eyes,  over 
which  eyebrows  were  set  in  tufts  of  stiff  coarse  hair,  his 
face  was  a  rather  long  oval,  his  under  lip  was  thick  and 
hanging,  his  hair  left  his  forehead  standing  very  promi- 
nently out,  while  it  stuck  up  hard  and  straight  round 
his  head  like  a  dark  coronet ;  looked  at  from  the  back  it 
resembled  a  good-sized  bird's  nest,  a  white  bald  place 
in  the  centre  suggesting  a  biggish  egg  lying  in  it.  That 
mouth,  with  the  pendulous  lip  and  the  fierce  eyebrows* 
and  hair,  did  much  good  work  in  Mr.  Gilbert's  school- 
room. And  Mr.  Gilbert  had  common  sense,  and  not  an 
inferior  mind,  for  there  is  no  end  to  the  contrasting 
qualities  that  will  meet  in  one  person  ;  and  his  common 
sense  had  told  him  long  ago  that  he  might  as  well  give 
up  his  business  at  once  as  betray  his  weakness  to  the 
young  crew  under  his  command.  And  he  did  not  betray 
it  ;  he  might  flare  up  into  a  passion  not  unfrequently,  but 


QUIXSTAR.  67 

he  did  not  tell  them  it  was  because  he  suspected  some 
of  them  of  laughing  at  him — all  such  confidences  he 
reserved  for  the  ear  of  his  wife  ;  and  although  it  would 
be  hard  to  say  that  a  man  was  never  to  appear  before 
his  wife  except  in  full  dress,  still  Mr.  Gilbert,  being  able 
to  control  his  weakness  in  some  circumstances,  he 
should  have  concealed  it  from  his  wife ;  it  is  pleasant  to 
be  looked  up  to,  and  he  might  have  doubted  how  long 
his  wife  would  have  looked  up  to  him  if  he  was  always 
telling  her  that  he  was  generally  undervalued  ;  besides, 
if  Mrs.  Gilbert  had  been  a  very  ordinary  woman,  people 
would  have  come  to  the  knowledge  of  her  husband's 
weakness  through  her — there  is  no  way  you  can  more 
correctly  get  the  missing  bits  that  you  are  wanting  when 
you  estimate  a  man  than  through  his  wife.  But  Mrs. 
Gilbert  was  a  strong-minded  woman.  That  phrase  is 
understood  to  be  a  synonym  for  a  disagreeable  woman. 
It  is  an  entire  mistake.  Think  of  a  great  gift  of  God 
having  come  to  be  a  byword  in  the  mouth  of  fools ! 
But  it  is  a  strong  will  that  the  superficial  confound  with 
a  strong  mind,  and  a  strong  will  joined  to  a  weak  mind 
is  nuisance  enough  in  man  or  woman — most  people 
between  the  cradle  and  the  grave  will  find  use  for  all 
the  strength  of  mind  they  can  lay  their  hands  on,  and  let 
those  who  have  it  be  devoutly  thankful.  Mrs.  Gilbert, 
however,  would  have  used  her  arm  for  a  bar  before  she 
would  have  admitted  the  public  to  look  at  her  husband 
in  undress.  An  ordinary  man  might  have  passed  for 
a  great  king  with  such  a  consort  beside  him  on  the  throne, 
for  Mrs.  Gilbert  had  in  her  the  royal  qualities  of  pride 
and  ambition,  but  as  the  wife  of  a  country  schoolmaster 
they  were  pretty  well  battened  down  under  the  hatches. 
With  the  optimist,  let  us  believe  it  was  all  for  the  best- 
The  special  Mordecai  that  sat  at  Mr.  Gilbert's  gate 


68  QUIXSTAR. 

at  this  time  was  James  Raeburn,  and  he  was  quite  as  in- 
nocent of  evil  intention  as  the  historical  Jew.  The  boy 
had  been  delicate,  and  returning  health  and  strength 
brought  an  exuberance  of  animal  spirits  which  effer- 
vesced in  a  way  often  offensive  to  Mr.  Gilbert,  who 
thought  he  presumed  on  the  wealthy  position  of  his 
father,  and  on  his — Mr.  Gilbert's — comparatively  humble 
circumstances,  the  truth  being  that  James  thought  neither 
of  the  one  nor  the  other,  nor  was  he  in  the  least  aware 
of  being  the  thorn  in  his  uncle's  side  that  he  was.  Mrs. 
Gilbert  was  glad  when  the  time  for  her  nephew's  depart- 
ure drew  near,  notwithstanding  that  she  loved  the  boy. 
He  was  to  go  home  after  the  examination  of  the  school, 
which  wound  up  the  scholastic  year  in  Quixstar. 

Mr.  Gilbert  was  a  good  teacher — not  first-rate,  but 
good.  To  the  making  of  the  highest  order  of  teacher 
enthusiasm  is  necessary,  and  no  man  always  thinking  of 
himself  can  be  enthusiastic  ;  but  he  can  like  children — 
they  minister  to  egotism — they  are  ignorant  and  he  is 
wise — they  are  subject  and  he  is  despot.  In  any  case 
being  a  despot  is  not  an  easy  business ;  but  what  must 
it  be  to  have  your  reputation  at  the  mercy  of  some  scores 
of  thoughtless  beings,  whose  love  for  learning  is  ques- 
tionable, and  whose  love  for  play  is  beyond  a  doubt — 
they  are  flint  hard. to  strike  fire  from. 

The  examination  was  approaching,  and  Mr.  Gilbert 
and  his  assistant  had  for  some  time  been  drilling  the 
school  specially  with  a  view  to  that  great  event.  Scotch 
parents  are  known  to  be  very  much  alive  to  the  advan- 
tages of  education,  and  interested  in  the  progress  of  their 
children,  and  happy  was  the  boy  who  could  go  home  at 
the  end  of  the  day,  and,  to  anxious  questions  as  to  his 
place  in  the  class,  say  dux.  Who  was  to  be  the  dux  at 
the  coming  examination  was  the  murmur  of  a  large  sec- 


QUIXSTAR.  69 

tion  of  the  boiiry  at  this  time.  There  were  five  boys  at 
the  head  of  the  school  contending  for  the  place  of  honor, 
which  only  one  of  them  could  get ;  they  were  all  reputed 
clever.  Mrs.  Sinclair  was  persuaded  that  unless  there 
was  gross  injustice  Tom  would  be  dux,  he  in  reality 
being  nowhere  in  the  race — and  having  a  knowledge  of 
this,  he  made  light  of  the  distinction.  Human  wisdom 
is  apt  pretty  often  to  be  at  fault,  especially  in  relation 
to  future  events  ;  none  of  the  clever  boys  carried  the  day  ; 
there  was  a  plodding  boy  in  the  school,  and  he  was  the 
tortoise  that  beat  the  hares.  The  hares  took  the  defeat 
easily  and  with  good  humor — down  to  Sandy  Fairley,  cer- 
tainly not  a  hare,  but  the  booby,  happily  not  keenly  alive 
to  his  position,  as  how  could  he,  having  kept  it  for  some 
years*  till  in  the  effort  to  drive  a  measure  of  knowledge 
into  his  head  the  palms  of  his  hands  had  hardened  under 
the  tawse  ?  Never  mind — he  is  now  the  respectable  and 
thriving  head  of  a  numerous  household.  One  wonders 
if  his  school  days  are  wrapt  in  the  enchanted  haze  that 
in  middle  life  is  apt  to  gather  round  that  time,  or  if 
burnt  leather  and  tingling  fingers — the  actual  elements — 
are  as  real  as  ever ;  not  likely,  he'll  be  dull  indeed  if  he 
has  not  contrived  to  gloss  up  things  some  way. 

The  great  day  came,  an'd  in  the  course  of  twelve 
hours  was  swept  as  ruthlessly  into  the  past  as  all  the 
days,  great  and  small,  that  had  gone  before  it,  but  not 
without  leaving  memories.  Little  Mrs.  Raeburn,  for  in- 
stance ;  she  had  travelled  from  Ironburgh  to  be  present 
on  the  occasion,  and  she  has  never  forgotten  the  face 
and  figure  of  her  son  James  as  he  sat  between  Pe^r 
Yritch  and  his  cousin.  She  was  surprised  he  was  not 
dux,  so  Peter  Veitch's  father  and  mother  were  surprised 
he  \vas  not  dux;  as  for  Mrs.  Gilbert,  she  believed  that 
her  son  got  less  than  justice  from  his  father,  fearful  lest 


70  QUIXSTAR. 

he  should  be  accused  of  partiality,  but  this  rivalry  gene- 
rated no  bad  feeling  among  the  boys,  nor,  indeed,  among 
their  parents,  except  that  Mrs.  Sinclaiu,  being  signally 
disappointed  that  Mr.  Gilbert  had  failed  to  bring  out 
Tom's  brilliant  parts,  made  up  her  mind  to  a  change  of 
arrangements  for  next  year.  Nevertheless,  she  lent  her 
countenance  to  the  event  of  the  hour,  and  Mr.  Gilbert, 
being  ignorant  of  her  secret  intentions,  was  spared  that 
annoyance  till  after. 

On  the  morning  of  the  examination  day  every  urchin 
connected  with  the  school  washed  his  face  in  soapier 
water,  and  got  into  his  Sunday  clothes  with  much  great- 
er zest  than  on  Sundays.  Peter  Veitch  was  happily  ig- 
norant of  the  mysteries  of  the  toilet.  The  last  suit  of 
clothes  he  had  got  had  been  made  by  a  tailor,  who  had 
not  learned  his  business  in  Bond  Street,  under  the  solemn 
warning  of  Mrs.  Veitch  that  if  they  were  not  big  enough 
to  serve  some  years  of  Sundays,  she  would  entirely  with- 
draw her  patronage.  Peter,  not  having  as  yet  wakened 
up  to  the  consciousness  of  personal  appearance,  slipped 
into  the  roomy  garments  without  the  least  misgiving. 
It  did  occur  to  him,  however,  when  looking  at  the  square 
inch  of  mirror  that  hung  by  the  side  of  the  window  in 
the  apartment  that  served  as  dining-room  and  kitchen, 
that  his  hair  was  not  in  such  order  as  was  desirable,  so 
he  went  into  a  closet  his  mother  called  the  milk-house, 
put  his  palms  on  the  top  of  a  dish  of  milk  on  which  the 
thick  rich  cream  lay  like  velvet,  raised  them  gloved  with 
cream,  which  he  nibbed  vigorously  into  his  hair,  and 
g»ing  back  to  his  looking-glass  combed  it  down,  and 
that  not  quite  succeeding,  he  seized  an  old  worn  clothes- 
brush  and  brushed  it  smooth ;  he  had  never  seen  a  hair- 
brush, but  there  and  then  he  invented  the  idea  of  that 
toilet  indispensable,  only  to  find,  like  many  people  who 


QUIXSTAR.  71 

strike  out  a  bright  idea,  that  it  is  not  by  any  means  new. 
Is  the  happiness  of  having  the  free  use  of  the  wisdom 
of  our  ancestors  not  more  than  counterbalanced  by  the 
mortification  of  finding  that  we  can  hardly  have  an  orig- 
inal idea  ? 

The  schoolroom  looked  fresh,  so  did  the  scholars, 
and  so  also  did  the  master,  as  he  stood  smiling  and 
bowing  to  groups  entering  at  one  door,  and  keeping  an 
eye  of  seVere  and  anxious  aspect  on  the  hives  swarming 
out  and  in  of  the  other.  He  was  equal  to  the  occasion, 
and  he  enjoyed  being  the  man  of  the  hour.  The  ex- 
aminers occupied  seats  in  front  of  the  young  host — 
reverend  gentlemen  they  were,  connected  with  the  dis- 
trict :  Mr.  Kennedy,  with  his  "  youthy "  out-of-doors 
air,  and  his  quick  sense  of  the  surface  of  men  and  things, 
and  inability  for  seeing  further  •  and  a  little  man  with 
sharp  eyes  and  nose,  who  looked  very  decisive ;  and  a 
tall,  shambling  man,  dreamy  and  good-natured ;  and  a 
stout,  short  man  with  a  sloping  face,  and  a  way  of  hold- 
ing up  his  head  "  like  a  hen  drinking  water,"  as  Peter 
Veitch  irreverently  whispered  to  the  boy  next  him. 
These  were  all;  as  yet  the  Government  Inspector 
was  not.  Behind  the  clergy  were  the  laity;  a  goodly 
number  of  what  were  technically  known  as  parents 
and  guardians.  Mrs.  Gilbert  was  there,  and  Mrs. 
and  Miss  Raeburn,  and  old  Mrs.  Gilbert,  the  school- 
master's aunt,  and  Peter  Veitch,  senior,  who  had  left 
his  work  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  put  on  his  Sunday 
coat,  the  neck  of  which  was  so  stiff  and  deep  it  might 
have  served  a  horse  for  a  collar ;  the  buttons  on  the  back 
having  stuck  fast  in  one  place,  while  the  buttons  on  the 
backs  of  other  people  had  been  travelling  up  and  down 
continually,  as  the  caprice  of  fashion  ordered.  Mrs. 
Veitch,  too,  was  there,  anxiously  wondering  if  Peter's 


72  QUIXSTAR. 

class  would  be  over  before  it  was  time  to  milk  the  cows. 
Mrs.  and  Miss  Smith  also  lent  their  countenance  on  this 
day.  They  were  members  of  a  clever  household  in  the 
aristocratic  part  of  Quixstar.  Mr.  Smith  had  been 
bankrupt  oftener  than  once,  but  the  family  held  up  its 
head,  ignored  circumstances,  and  abated  nothing  of  its 
dignity  in  speech  or  action,  nor,  so  far  as  could  be  judged, 
in  thought,  and  lived  in  style — at  least  in  style  for 
Quixstar.  How  it  was  done  simpler  people* did  not 
know ;  but  it  was  done,  and  well  done  ;  even  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair, though  perfectly  aware  that  Mr.  Smith  was  not 
worth  a  penny,  felt  rather  overawed  by  the  general 
bearing  of  the  Smiths.  Their  cleverness  did  not  consist 
in  book-knowledge,  although  if  you  did  not  meet  them 
often,  you  would  not  have  thought  them  deficient  in 
that ;  what  there  was  of  it  was  most  skilfully  displayed, 
like  the  goods  in  a  shop  window  which  has  a  mirror  at 
each  side  and  one  behind,  giving  to  comparative  barren- 
ness an  air  of  great  plenty.  Some  of  the  numerous  boys 
of  this  family  were  at  Mr.  Gilbert's  school.  They  were 
too  spirited,  their  mamma  knew,  to  be  nailed  for  any 
length  of  time  to  a  book ;  so  that  she  was  not  surprised 
that  their  position  in  the  school  was  not  the  highest,  still 
it  seemed  like  the  irony  of  circumstances  that  when 
honor  of  any  kind  was  going,  it  should  fall  to  the  lot  of 
John  Johnston,  the  butchers  son,  who  was  dux  of  the 
school,  rather  than  to  one  of  her  boys.  The  butcher  and 
his  wife  were  present  to  enjoy  their  son's  elevation, 
proud  and  happy,  with  a  prophetic  feeling  irt  their  hearts 
that  their  son  had  got  his  foot  on  the  first  round  of  the 
ladder  that  leads  to  success  in  life. 

The  business  of  the  day  went  on ;  classes  were  gone 
over ;  copy-books  lying  open  on  desks  were  examined, 
and  such  true  observations  as  "  Youth  is  the  season  for 


QUIXSTAR.  73 

improvement,"  "Education  is  an  excellent  and  lasting 
patrimony,"  were  found  well  and  correctly  set  forth ;  and 
the  scholars  had  all  acquitted  themselves  creditably,  when 
more  than  one  reverend  gentleman  suggested  to  the  mas- 
ter that  they  had  seen  quite  enough  to  convince  them  of 
the  thorough  efficiency  of  the  school.  Mr.  Gilbert's  face 
beamed;  matter-of-course  words  were  not  matter  of 
course  to  him ;  if  he  was  easily  offended  he  was  as  easily 
pleased.  No  doubt  he  had  just  cause  of  pleasure  in 
having  done  his  work  well,  but  a  compliment  was  very 
dear  to  him  (to  whom  is  it  disagreeable  ?),  and  he  would 
have  gone  on  to  the  end  of  his  programme,  but  at  length 
it  was  conveyed  to  him  that  people  were  feeling  the 
dinner  hour  nearer  than  it  had  been,  and  he  drew  the 
proceedings  to  a  close,  and  declared  the  day's  work 
done.  Then  Mr.  Kennedy  rose  and  said — 

"  My  dear  young  friends,  in  these  beautiful  copy-books 
lying  behind  us,  I  find  written, '  Youth  is  the  season  for 
improvement ; '  now,  I  was  once  a  little  boy  ('YeYe  no 
very  big  yet,'  whispered  Peter  Yeitch  to  his  neighbor), 
and  when  I  was  a  boy,  that  was  my  spring-time,  you 
know,  and  this  is  your  spring-time,  when  you  must  sow 
knowledge,  industry,  integrity,  perseverance,  and  a  great 
many  things,  if  you  mean,  as  I  daresay  you  all  do,  to  go 
creditably  through  life  according  to  your  respective  sta- 
tions. From  what  I  have  seen  to-day,  my  dear  young 
friends,  you  bid  fair  to  do  that.  I  cannot,  sir  (turning  to 
Mr.  Gilbert),  compliment  you  too  highly  on  the  thorough 
teaching  and  admirable  order  maintained  in  this  school. 
If  there  is  one  profession  I  would  be  inclined  to  rate 
more  highly  than  another,  it  is  that  of  training  the  young 
mind  of  our  community.  May  you,  sir,  be  long  spared 
to  your  arduous  but  grateful  duties." 

Mr.  Gilbert  again  looked  very  gratified,  while  Mrs. 
4 


74  QUIXSTAR. 

Gilbert  felt  annoyed  ;  which  was  the  wisest  you  can  judge 
— Mr.  Gilbert  who  swallowed  easily  anything  in  the 
shape  of  a  compliment,  or  Mrs.  Gilbert,  who  could  only 
brook  that  article  when  it  was  served  up  with  equal 
parts  of  sincerity  and  delicacy.  If  people  cultivate  fas- 
tidiousness about  anything,  it  is  apt  to  grow  upon  them 
to  such  a  pitch  as  makes  this  world  a  very  uncomfort- 
able place  to  live  in.  The  tall  dreamy-looking  man  next 
rose  and  said — 

"  Mr.  Kennedy  has  told  you  that  he  was  once  a  little 
boy.  I  would  like  to  put  another  remarkable  fact  along- 
side that,  and  it  is  this  :  I  was  once  a  little  boy  too  (a 
laugh) ;  not  so  long  ago  but  that  I  can  remember  sitting 
where  you  are — I'll  not  say  which  end  of  the  form  I  was 
nearest  (a  laugh).  There  used  always  to  be  one  gentle- 
man at  our  examinations,  a  big  portly  man,  with  a  gurly- 
burly  voice,  who  looked  pretty  closely  into  things. 
Once  when  we  were  being  examined  in  arithmetic  we 
were  set  to  extract  the  square  root  of  something.  I  knew 
nothing  about  it.  I  might  as  well  have  been  set  to  ex- 
tract the  root  of  one  of  these  big  trees.  When  this  gentle- 
man looked  at  my  slate  he  gave  an  awful  frown,  and  said, 
'  Boy,  that's  wrong.  Do  that  again.'  I  could  not  put 
it  right,  but,  happily  for  me,  we  were  just  what  we  all 
are  at  present,  a  little  tired  and  a  little  hungry,  and  I  got 
off.  Mr.  Kennedy  has  told  you  what  good  qualities  you 
must  cultivate  to  get  on.  I  hope  you'll  cultivate  them 
all ;  but  there  is  a  short  sentence  about  getting  on,  which 
I  shall  tell  you.  It  won't  impress  you  much  now,  but 
when  you  leave  school,  as  I  understand  some  of  you  are 
about  to  do,  and  begin  to  look  back  to  it,  when  you  dis- 
perse to  all  quarters  of  the  globe,  as  you  likely  will,  and 
call  up  before  you,  as  distinctly  as  you  see  it  to-day,  this 
school,  the  notched  forms,  the  inked  and  cut  desks,  the 


QTTIXSTAR.  75 

faces  of  your  school- fellows  and  your  teacher,  your  play- 
ground and  your  games,  perhaps  you  will  remember  me 
as  I  remember  the  gentleman  I  spoke  of,  then  you  will 
recall  this  short  summing  up  of  success  in  life,  '  Content- 
ment with  godliness  is  great  gain.'  Boys,  I  can  wish 
you  nothing  better  than  that  that  sentence  may  be  the 
bird  of  peace  to  you  in  after  life,  bringing  calm  when 
you  are  beaten  with  storms." 

Whereupon  Mr.  Kennedy  started  up  and  said — 

"  I  hope  you  will  all  cultivate  contentment  with  the 
places  you  are  in.  You  have  done  well  to-day,  which 
shows  that  Mr.  Gilbert  does  well  every  day.  You  will 
have  five  weeks  of  vacation ;  give  three  cheers,  and  we 
shall  dismiss." 

Immediately  there  was  a  noise  as  if  the  building  were 
coming  down,  which  lulled  and  swelled  for  some  seconds. 

Mr.  Kennedy  turned  round  to  Mrs.  Gilbert  and 
said — 

"  You  must  feel  very  proud  to-day,  Mrs.  Gilbert.  I 
really  envy  your  husband.  There's  nothing  I  would  like 
better  than  to  teach.  It's  noble  work." 

"  I  had  no  idea  yq,u  were  so  enthusiastic,  Mr.  Ken- 
nedy," she  said.  "  I  should  think  you  would  have  little 
difficulty  in  getting  a  school  if  you  would  prefer  teach- 
ing." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  knew  that  Mr.  Kennedy  regarded  her 
husband  as  a  kind  of  henchman,  and  she  did  not  like  it. 

Mr.  Kennedy  turned  to  Mrs.  Raeburn,  "What  a 
pity,"  he  said,  "  that  Mr.  Raeburn  was  not  here  to  be 
delighted  with  his  son's  appearance  ;  a  fine  boy — a  very 
.  fine  boy — one  of  seven,  I  understand  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Raeburn  would  have  been  here,  but  business 
prevented  him,"  said  Mrs.  Raeburn.  "  I  expect  him 
to-day  yet." 


76  QUIXSTAR. 

"  Oh,  indeed,  and  you're  going  to  take  your  boy  back ; 
all  the  better,  I  am  sure,  from  having  been  under  the 
care  of  Mr.  and  Mrs  Gilbert." 

"  Oh,  very  much  better  indeed,  and  his  papa  and  I 
are  very  grateful,"  etc.,  etc. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

THE  dinner  at  Mrs.  Gilbert's  was  not  likely  served  & 
la  JRusse,  more  probably  a  la  rustic  /  it  was  strictly  a 
family  party,  and  before  they  sat  down,  Mr.  Raeburn 
arrived  to  make  it  complete. 

A  family  party  is  not  unnaturally  supposed  to  be  a 
very  blessed  thing,  as  it  ought  to  be,  but  by  a  sarcastic 
twist  in  human  affairs  sometimes  it  is  not.  Job  was  a 
patient  man,  he  was  also  a  wise  one  when  he  offered  up 
sacrifices  after  a  family  party  in  case  they  had  sinned  in 
their  hearts.  Mahomet  too  must  have  had  a  family 
party  in  his  eye — he  had  reason  to  dread  them — when 
describing  Paradise  he  said,  "  Ye  shall  sit  opposite  one 
another,  and  all  grudges  shall  be  taken  out  of  your 
hearts."  Six  people,  exclusive  of  the  young  generation, 
were  round  the  schoolmaster's  table,  wearing  the  ap- 
pearance of  good-fellowship,  but  the  grudges  had  not 
been  taken  out  of  all  their  hearts.  Mr.  Gilbert  was  per- 
suaded, and  had  made  known  his  conviction  to  Mrs. 
Gilbert,  that  if  Mr.  Raeburn  had  intended  or  wished  to 
be  present  at  the  examination  he  might  have  been  so. 
"  Business  was  the  excuse,  and  he  might  have  business, 
but  nothing  so  desperately  pressing  that  it  could  not 
have  been  delayed  for  a  few  hours,  or  managed  without 
him,  but  of  course  he  did  not  think  it  worth  while.  I 
believe,"  he  wound  up  indignantly,  "  he  does  not  know 
the  value  of  education,  except  so  far  as  it  can  help  him 


78  QUIXSTAR. 

to  make  money."  In  reality,  Mr.  Raeburn  had  been 
very  anxious  to  come,  and  had  said  so,  but  Mr.  Gilbert 
knew  better. 

Miss  Raeburn  sat  opposite  her  sister-in-law,  and  lost 
herself  in  astonishment  as  to  what  could  have  been  the 
attraction  for  her  brother — neither  looks,  nor  mind,  nor 
even  money,  and  a  man  so  superior  in  every  way ;  for 
Miss  Raeburn,  like  many  sisters,  had  the  amiable  weak- 
ness of  believing  that  her  brother  was  no  every-day 
prize  for  any  woman,  and  there  sat  his  wife,  ordinary 
among  the  ordinary. 

Newspaper  matter  is  generally  safe  in  most  compa- 
nies, and  Miss  Raeburn  threw  the  topics  of  the  day  on 
the  carpet  with  considerable  success,  and  in  time  the 
feast  came  to  a  close  not  more  ignominiously  than  many 
of  a  more  ambitious  kind  have  done. 

Mr.  Raeburn  went  home  with  his  sister,  and  sat  for 
an  hour  with  her.  "  Do  you  like  to  live  here  alone  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  like  it,  or  probably  I  wouldn't  do  it.  I  am 
a  good  deal  given  to  do  what  I  like." 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  but  do  you  not  feel  dull  at  times  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,  if  a  kitten  lives  it  must  grow  into  a  cat, 
but  I  often  feel  inclined  to  run  round  after  my  tail  even 
yet.  Do  you  never  feel  dull  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  much  time  to  be  dull." 

"  But  you  should  take  time,  or  make  it ;  it  must  be 
dreadful  never  to  feel  dull." 

"  You're  always  like  yourself,  Joan.  What  I  was 
going  to  say  was,  wouldn't  you  think  of  coming  to  live 
with  us  ?  " 

"  You  have  never  had  any  reason  to  think  that  I  have 
been  disappointed  in  love  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Xo  ;  I  hope  you  haven't." 


QUIXSTAR.  79 

"  I  never  have,  and  I  don't  think  it's  likely  I  shall  be 
now;  too  late,  I  doubt,  too  late." 

"  Don't  speak  nonsense.  I  was  asking  if  you  could 
think  of  coming  to  live  with  us  ?  " 

"  And  you  don't  see  the  sequence  of  ideas  ?  Well, 
it  takes  a  disappointment  of  the  kind  I  have  mentioned 
to  turn  out  in  perfection  the  kind  of  article  you  want : 
a  meek,  wise,  clever,  handy  idiot,  with  no  more  appa- 
rent will  or  wish  of  her  own  than  harlequin  has  bones. 
No ;  I  am  not  good  enough  yet." 

"  What  do  you  do  from  morning  to  night  ?  " 

"  I  enjoy  myself." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  I  thought  you  would  not  know 
what  to  do." 

"  Not  a  bit ;  besides,  I  can  enjoy  myself  remarkably 
well  doing  nothing." 

"  You  would  enjoy  yourself  much  better  with  us." 

"  Thank  you.     No ;  I'm  not  good  enough." 

"  You  used  to  be  fond  of  company.  I  wonder  you 
like  to  live  here  alone." 

"  Better  hang  loose  than  an  ill  tether." 

"  Oh,  as  for  tethers,  unless  they  are  something  des- 
perate altogether,  one  gets  accustomed  to  them.  You 
come  to  like  anything  that's  your  own,  if  it  be  but  a  dic- 
tionary or  an  umbrella." 

"  Do  you  remember,  Jamie,  when  you  went  first 
from  home,  how  I  used  to  describe  my  bonnets  in  my 
letters,  and  you  criticised  them  ?  Those  were  innocent 
days.  You  have  no  time  for  that  now." 

"  Describe  your  bonnets,  and  I'll  do  so  still." 

"  Not  you !  The  world  is  too  much  with  you.  Be- 
sides, I  hardly  know  now  what  like  my  bonnets  are  my- 
self." 

"  You're  wrong,  Joan.     I  may  be  with  the  world  a 


80  QUIXSTAR. 

good  deal,  but  the  world  is  not  with  me.  I  get  plenty, 
but  I  don't  spend  much — at  least  that  people  see.  Prob- 
ably they  say  that  my  mind  is  narrow,  not  able  to  ex- 
pand with  circumstances,  but  I  can't  in  conscience  bring 
up  my  boys  in  luxurious  tastes  and  habits." 

"  You  are  right." 

"  I  try  to  do  my  best.  I  thought  maybe  you  would 
have  helped  me." 

"  If  I  could ;  but  it  would  not  do.  It's  no  use  speak- 
ing." 

"  So  I  suppose.  You  are  really  happy  here— you  are 
sure?" 

"  Quite  sure." 

"  Well,  I'll  have  to  go  now,  or  the  schoolmaster's 
face  will  grow  dark." 

"  Yes,  go  by  all  means,  although  I  would  like  to  have 
you  longer ;  but  better  go  than  give  offence." 

He  went,  and  Miss  Raeburn  fell  to  musing.  "  It 
would  not  do,"  she  thought.  "  I  wonder  he  does  not 
see  it  would  not  do.  Jane  would  grow  jealous,  and  I 
would  lose  my  temper,  and  live  in  a  state  of  chronic  ir- 
ritation, and  despise  myself  for  doing  so,  and  I  have  so 
much  enjoyment  here;  life  has  such  a  keen  relish,  al- 
though you  don't  get  people  to  believe  that.  '  A  dic- 
tionary or  an  umbrella ! '  and  it  has  come  to  that.  Poor 
Jamie,  I'm  vexed  for  him.  I  wonder  his  pride  let  him 
confess  it,"  Thus  Miss  Raeburn  ;  and  she  was  sorry,  no 
doubt  of  it.  Still  there  is  a  certain  satisfaction  in  hear- 
ing a  person  allow  that  his  wisdom  may  have  been  at 
fault,  and  if  it  had  been  a  less  serious  matter  Miss  Rae- 
burn would  have  felt  this,  but  as  it  was  she  only  pitied 
her  brother.  She  might  have  spared  herself  the  trouble. 
Mr.  Raeburn  had  made  the  dictionary  and  umbrella  re- 
mark not  thinking  of  his  own  case  at  all.  He  was  well 


QUIXSTAR.  81 

enough  pleased  with  his  wife.  A  man  brushing  about 
the  world,  and  having  a  -large  business  to  manage,  has 
something  else  to  do  than  recall  phrases  and  attach 
weight  to  them  they  were  never  intended  to  bear ;  but 
some  women  are  apt  to  do  this.  They  sit  and  think ; 
they  do  a  good  deal  of  their  work  and  think — for  it 
needs  little  attention ;  and  while  a  man  has  the  tear  and 
wear  of  big  wheels  grinding  big  things  with  movement 
and  sound,  a  woman  has  the  tear  and  wear  of  small 
wheels  revolving  quietly,  and  grinding — well,  grinding 
sometimes  things  not  worth  turning  over  twice  ;  and  this 
was  what  Miss  Raeburn  did  with  her  brother's  remark. 
But  there  is  something  in  it.  Having  selected  your  dic- 
tionary and  chosen  your  umbrella,  you  are  apt  to  stand 
by  them. 

When  Mr.  Raeburn  and  his  wife  were  .alone  that 
night  she  said,  "  Do  you  know  that  Mr.  Gilbert  is  offend- 
ed because  you  did  not  come  in  time  for  the  examina- 
tion ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  I  have  explained  the  reason  to  him, 
and  if  he  will  still  be  offended  I  can't  help  it." 

"  It's  a  pity,  though.  You  see  a  man  of  your  wealth 
and  influence  is  so  much  counted  on — " 

"  I  know  that  perfectly,  and  Gilbert  thinks  I  look 
down  on  him.  I  look  down  on  no  good  man.  I  am  not 
so  idiotic  as  not  to  value  wealth,  but  I  know  I  have  won 
it  when  many  a  better  man  has  not;  and  as  for  position, 
every  man  is  born  to  a  position  that  will  tax  all  his 
powers  to  fill.  I  have  no  patience  with  Gilbert's  small 
touchiness.  It  would  be  nothing  to  me  to  give  him  four 
times  what  he  chai'ges  for  James's  year  hei'e,  but  I  daren't 
do  it ;  he  would  think  I  was  insulting  him.  Whether 
I  should  think  more  or  less  of  him  for  that  I'm  not  sure. 
It's  not  often  you  can  kill  a  dog  with  a  bone." 
4* 


82  QUIXSTAR. 

"  Well,  it's  a  pity,"  sighed  Mrs.  Raeburn. 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  trying  to  get  help  for  you,  but 
have  failed." 

"How?  what  help?" 

"  I  asked  Joan  to  come  and  live  with  us." 

"  And  she  won't  ?  I  daresay  not.  I  know  nobody 
so  well  off.  I  often  envy  her ;  she  has  neither  care  nor 
toil.  I  am  always  tired  and  anxious  when  the  servants 
quarrel,  and  the  boys  are  unruly.  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
fling  everything  at  my  feet,  and  run  away." 

Mr.  Raeburn  exerted  himself  to  comfort  and  cheer 
his  wife,  showing  that  she  was  more  to  him  than  a  dic- 
tionary or  umbrella ;  and  it  was  well,  for  the  fibres  of 
both  their  natures  were  to  be  strained  as  they  had  not 
been  yet,  and  also,  in  sailor  phrase,  spliced  more  closely 
than  they  had  been  hitherto. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

NEXT  morning  Bell  Sinclair  was  in  the  garden,  stand- 
ing at  her  uncle's  favorite  point  of  view,  looking  over 
the  wall  to  the  water  as  it  murmured  away  down  below 
the  bridge.  She  saw  Peter  Veitch  coming  along,  and 
when  he  was  near  she  called,  "  Peter."  He  glanced  up. 
"  What  did  you  put  on  your  hair  yesterday  that  made  it 
look  so  funny  and  streaky  ?  " 

"Cream. — Do  you  ken  what's  happened?"  he  said, 
in  a  very  subdued  way,  compared  with  his  usual  brisk 
tones. 

"  No.     What  has  happened  ?   nothing  bad  ?  " 

"  Jamie  Raeburn — "  and  Peter  stopped,  his  voice 
failing  him  as  he  realized  the  fact,  "Jamie  Raeburn — " 

"  You  have  not  been  doing  any  ill,  you  and  he  ?  "  she 
asked,  "  have  you  ?  " 

"  No.  He  is  drooned.  I  saw  him  taken  out  o'  ane 
o'  the  holes  up  the  water  no'  half  an  hour  syne."  Both 
were  dumb  for  a  second  after  such  awful  news. 

"  Was  nothing  done — were  they  doing  nothing — to 
bring  life  back  ?  People  are  often — " 

"  He  had  been  ower  lang  in,  Bell.  If  1  had  been 
there  I  could  have  saved  him,  I  think.  I  could  hae  got- 
ten him  out  quick;  but  there  was  naebody  there  but 
wee  laddies." 

Bell  heard  the  breakfast-bell  ring.  "  I'll  have  to  go 
in,  Peter." 


84  QUIXSTAK. 

He  nodded,  and  with  all  their  deeper  thoughts  of 
this,  the  first  tragedy  that  had  cora-e  close  home  to  them, 
unsaid,  they  parted. 

''  Who  was  that  you  were  speaking  to  over  the  wall, 
Bell  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

"  Peter  Veitch.     Oh,  mamma — " 

"  Peter  Veitch  !  How  often  have  I  told  you  to  hold 
no  unnecessary  intercourse  with  people  of  his  class  ? 
Did  you  address  him  first,  or  did  he  address  you  ?  " 

"  I  spoke  to  him,  and  he  told  me  that  Jamie  Rae- 
burn  was  drowned  this  morning  when  he  was  bathing." 

"Jamie  Raeburn !  How  did  it  happen?"  asked 
Tom,  with  his  mouth  full. 

"  Indeed  !  a  very  sad  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair,  "  how- 
ever it  happened.  It  is  a  painful  dispensation  to  his 
parents.  Let  it  be  a  lesson  to  you,  Tom,  to  be  careful. 
I  don't  know  that  I  should  allow  you  to  bathe.  It  will 
cast  quite  a  gloom  over  the  locality." 

"  The  water  is  so  low  just  now,  I  would  not  have 
thought  it  dangerous,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  It  was  in  a  deep  pool,"  said  Bell. 

Mr.  Sinclair  glanced  at  Tom ;  he  was  eating  more 
seriously  than  usual.  He  was  generally  serious  at  meals. 
Mr.  Sinclair's  nieces  were  not  eating,  and  tears  were 
gleaming  in  their  eyes.  He  looked  at  his  watch ;  it  was 
half-past  eight. 

How  was  the  news  received  at  the  schoolmaster's 
house  ?  Mrs.  Gilbert  had  been  up  early ;  she  generally 
was.  The  great  objection  to  women  attempting  the 
practice  of  medicine  is  stated  to  be  their  want  of 
strength  and  nerve,  but  so  far  as  an  outside  spectator 
may  judge,  the  ordinary  work  of  a  doctor  seems  a  joke 
compared  to  what  many  women  undergo — not  in  strain- 
ing to  ape  a  class  above  them,  but  merely  trying  to 


QUIXSTAR.  85 

make  the  most  of  a  narrow  income  in  their  own  sphere. 
Keeping  up  appearances  may  sometimes  be  a  farce,  but 
letting  them  down  is  apt  to  be  a  tragedy.  Mrs.  Gil- 
bert, like  many  other  good  women,  kept  them  up.  She 
looked  well  to  the  ways  of  her  household.  Usually  she 
had  a  servant  recommended  as  being  one  to  whom  she 
might  intrust  untold  gold,  but  that  was  the  only  thing 
she  could  be  trusted  with  untold,  and  as  it  was  not  an 
article  lying  about  in  every  corner  the  advantage  was  the 
less.  The  eye  and  hand  of  her  mistress  must  be  con- 
stantly about  her,  or  there  was  a  chance  world  immedi- 
ately. Nor  in  this  was  Mrs.  Gilbert  to  be  pitied. 
Work,  active  handwork,  even  what  is  called  menial,  is 
no  hardship,  and  if  not  overdone  is  the  best  tonic  for 
body  and  mind.  A  doctor  may  say  that  he  is  worked  to 
death.  Mrs.  Raeburn  said  she  was  always  tired,  but 
Mrs.  Gilbert  never  said  to  any  one,  and  could  not  say 
to  her  husband,  that  she  was  wearied,  although  that  was 
a  frequent  thing,  for  he  would  at  once  have  made  out 
that  she  was  reproaching  him,  and  that  she  was  con- 
trasting her  own  lot  with  her  sister's.  Many  a  woman 
has  been  silent  in  similar  circumstances,  but  it  is  a  dan- 
gerous thing  teaching  man,  woman,  child,  or  nation  to 
hold  its  tongue.  A  death-like  torpor  or  an  explosion  is 
likely  to  be  the  result.  Silence  is  not  always  golden,  it 
is  sometimes  wretchedly  leaden. 

Mrs.  Gilbert  was  up  early,  and  she  saw  .and  spoke  to 
James  as  he  went  out.  All  she  said  was, "  Good-morning, 
Jamie  ;  is  John  not  going  with  you  ?  " 

"  No ;  he  is  lazy  this  morning,"  and,  whistling  care- 
lessly, James  shut  the  door  with  a  bang,  which  Mrs.  Gil- 
bert thought  would  rouse  her  inmates,  and  she  felt  an- 
noyed, but  speedily  forgot  her  annoyance,  having  all  kinds 
of  small  details  to  attend  to. 


86  QUIXSTAR. 

The  family  were  assembled,  with  the  exception  of 
James,  and  breakfast  was  on  the  table.  Mrs.  Gilbert 
proposed  waiting  a  little  for  him,  but  his  father  said, "  No ; 
James  knew  the  hour,  would  Mrs.  Gilbert  just  go  on." 
Mr.  Gilbert  said, "  Certainly,  go  on,"  and  they  all  sat  and 
ate  and  chatted,  Mr.  Gilbert  and  Mr.  Raeburn,  hitting 
on  some  topics  about  which  they  agreed,  and  still  James 
did  not  come.  "  There  he  is  ! "  said  his  mother,  as  footsteps 
approached  the  door,  but  it  was  only  the  untold-gold 
maiden,  to  say  that  a  person  wanted  to  speak  to  Mr. 
Gilbert.  Mr.  Gilbert  rose  and  went  out  to  meet  the 
messenger  of  evil  tidings.  "Impossible,"  he  said, 
"  drowned !  impossible."  "  It's  true  tho',  sir,"  said  the 
man;  "the  doctor  has  beeu  working  with  him  for  an 
hour,  but  it's  no  use ;  he  thinks  he  had  struck  his  head 
on  a  stone,  and  had  been  stunned." 

"  Tell  your  mistress  to  come  here,"  Mr.  Gilbert  said 
to  his  servant,  who  was  listening  with  a  whitened  face. 
Many  times  he  had  been  stung  by  the  boy's  thoughtless 
sallies,  but  this  was  awful — drowned !  It  was  soon  all 
known — nothing  could  alter  it,  neither  his  mother's  tears 
nor  his  father's  hidden  grief.  He  was  the  first  of  these 
school-fellows  to  end  his  career.  In  time  he  became,  even 
in  the  hearts  of  his  father  and  mother,  a  kind  of  tender 
dream ;  by  others  he  was  forgotten,  or  remembered  as  a 
fact — merely  a  thing  that  had  been.  Out  of  Mrs.  Gil- 
bert's great  grief  for  her  sister  and  brother  crept  a  feeling 
of  thankfulness  that  her  own  son  was  spared  to  her — her 
only  son,  her  first-born  ;  the  Raeburns  had  six  left,  but  if 
John  had  been  taken,  on  whom  she  and  his  father  built 
so  much,  how  could  they  have  borne  it  ?  It  was  a  say- 
ing among  the  heathen,  "  whom  the  gods  love  die  young," 
and  it  is  certain  that  death,  the  death  of  a  child,  is  not 
the  heaviest  sorrow  given  to  man  to  carry.  The  Gil- 


QUIXSTAR.  87 

bert  children  were  awe-struck ;  it  was  a  fearful  shadow 
that  had  come  in  at  their  door.  Mrs.  Sinclair  went  to 
call  and  offer  her  sympathy  to  Mrs.  Raebum,  but  that 
lady  declined  to  see  any  one,  and  Mrs.  Gilbert  was  com- 
missioned to  tell  her  that  she,  Mrs.  Sinclair,  knew  her 
every  feeling,  having  come  through  it  all  twice — she  had 
had  two  lovely  children  torn  from  her  by  death,  but 
from  the  first  she  considered  they  were  provided  for  far 
better  than  she  could  provide  for  them  ;  and  a  great  deal 
more  she  said  which  Mrs.  Gilbert  did  not  think  neces- 
sary to  transmit  to  the  bereaved  mother.  Mrs.  Sinclair 
asked  the  children  to  Old  Battle  House  for  the  day — "  for," 
she  said,  "  it  would  be  unbecoming  for  them  to  amuse 
themselves  here,  and  they  can't  sit  still  all  day  and  weep." 
She  took  them  with  her,  and  John  and  Tom  employed 
themselves  quietly  in  the  stable-yard  sawing  wood  for 
some  purpose  of  their  own,  while  the  girls  went  into 
the  garden,  where  Mr.  Sinclair  chanced  to  overhear 
them  laughing.  He  took  out  his  watch  and  said  to  him- 
self, "  Tears  at  half-past  eight,  laughter  at  half-past  three 
— shallow  from  beginning  to  end;  they  are  all  alike." 

It  did  not  strike  Mr.  Sinclair  as  a  happy  thing  that 
children  should  have  short  memories  for  their  griefs, 
and  be  easily  diverted  from  them  for  a  time.  If  he  had 
been  crying  and  laughing  in  the  course  of  a  short  time 
it  might  have  been  feather-headed  enough,  but  that 
children  should  do  so  is  the  happy  arrangement  of  a  higher 
power.  It  is  to  be  feared  his  nature  had  met  some  sort 
of  wrench,  that  he  had  been  deceived, — whether  in  love 
or  friendship  cannot  be  known;  but  such  a  deception 
creates  a  frightful  recoil ;  it  makes  faith  and  love  shrink 
to  .the  furthest  corner,  never  perhaps  to  come  fairly  and 
frankly  out  again.  However,  it  might  only  be  Mr.  Sin- 
clair's ignorance  of  children,  and  his  want  of  observation  ; 


88  QUIXSTAR. 

at  any  rate,  if  there  was  such  an  episode  in  his  life  it  was 
well  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  no  inkling  of  it,  for  inevitably  she 
would  have  raked  it  up — there  are  people  who  will  trail 
ghoul-like  fingers  through  such  a  spot  from  maliciousness, 
or  to  gratify  a  low  curiosity ;  she  would  have  lugged  in 
the  topic  to  offer  sympathy,  or  merely  as  a  thing  to  talk 
of,  and  unconsciously  would  have  earned  life-long  dis- 
like, or  something  very  much  stronger;  she  would  not 
have  been  long  at  Old  Battle  House. 

When  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Raeburn  left,  Miss  Raeburn 
went  with  them.  Her  sympathies  were  moved  by  the 
circumstances,  and  although,  unlike  Mrs.  Sinclair,  she 
had  no  propensity  for  going  about  to  make  herself 
of  use,  she  organized  her  brother's  household ;  things  fell 
into  shape  before  her  with  no  appearance  of  effort.  The 
fact  that  Miss  Raeburn  had  nothing  but  herself  to  super- 
intend was  a  waste  of  power ;  but  waste  is  a  law  of  the 
world,  and  she  did  not  feel  it  so  herself;  she  had  made 
her  choice  deliberately,  and  held  to  it.  Meagre,  you 
will  say,  her  nature  must  have  been,  wanting  in  some- 
thing possibly,  but  yet  you  know,  though  a  vessel  may 
be  small,  if  it  is  full  what  is  there  to  desire  ? 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

OLD  Mrs.  Gilbert,  the  schoolmaster's  aunt,  was  at 
once  feeble-minded  and  simple-minded — a  character  it 
is  remarkably  easy  to  put  in  a  ridiculous  light.  She  en- 
joyed much  the  kind  of  religious  meetings  where  the 
pasture  seems  not  only  bare,  but  sickly,  and  the  litera- 
ture on  her  tables  was  of  the  same  order ;  but  she  was 
so  kindly  and  humble  and  industrious,  that  you  felt, 
though  you  could  assimilate  next  to  nothing  out  of  her 
mental  pabulum,  it  must  have  had  some  life-giving 
power,  or  she  could  not  have  thriven  on  it  as  she  did. 
Now,  she  liked  the  Gilbert  girls  well  enough,  but  she 
was  foolishly  fond  of  John,  so  fond  of  him  that  she 
bribed  him  to  go  with  her  and  another  old  lady  to  a 
weekly  prayer-meeting.  John  walked  along  the  street 
with  them,  and  sat  out  the  hour  demurely.  It  was  a 
queer  old  church  in  which  this  meeting  was  held,  with 
galleries  in  unexpected  places,  in  which,  if  you  sat  in  an 
ordinary  position,  your  back  was  to  the  speaker.  This 
did  not  distress  John.  He  arranged  himself  as  comfort- 
ably as  circumstances  would  permit,  and  circumstances 
permitted  a  good  deal  of  comfort  in  a  quiet  way,  for  the 
pews  were  so  deep  and  the  lights  so  sparse  that  he  was 
entirely  sheltered  from  observation,  and  could  amuse  him- 
self measuring  with  his  eye  the  great  brown  beams  over 
his  head,  or  spelling  out  the  half-obliterated  texts  of 
Scripture  that  had  been  painted  long  ago  on  the  front 


90  QUIXSTAR. 

of  the  galleries.  When  more  familiar  with  the  situation 
he  wrote  his  school-exercises  for  the  next  day,  Mrs.  Gil- 
bert supposing  he  was  taking  notes  of  what  the  minister 
was  saying,  which  gave  her  a  glow  of  happiness,  espe- 
cially as  she  always  found  him  able  to  respond  intelli- 
gently to  any  remarks  she  made  after.  Mrs.  Gilbert 
did  not  mention  to  any  one  that  she  gave  John  a  shilling 
an  hour  for  his  company  on  these  occasions,  nor  did  he 
mention  it,  for  he  had  the  idea  that  if  his  father  and 
mother  knew  of  this  source  of  income  it  would  be 
stopped  at  once ;  and  he  was  right.  It  was  Mrs.  Gil- 
bert's custom  to  have  her  young  friends  to  spend  an 
evening  with  her  once  a  week,  and  on  the  week  after  the 
breaking  up  of  the  school,  and  the  sudden  and  melan- 
choly death  of  James  Raeburn,  she  asked  the  Sinclairs 
also,  proposing  to  improve  that  distressing  event  to 
them  all.  Now  a  person  whose  life  is  on  the  lees,  and 
who  has  seen  death  so  often  that  in  talking  the  very 
word  seems  to  have  shed  part  of  its  awful  meaning — at 
least  such  a  person  as  Mrs.  Gilbert — has  no  idea  what 
effect  a  subject  like  this  has  on  the  minds  of  children. 
Much  better  surely  to  prepare  them  for  life  than  for 
death ;  they  were  not  likely  to  forget  the  naked  fact 
which  had  been  put  before  their  eyes  with  such  start- 
ling power.  Her  intention  was  good  no  doubt,  but  it 
was  overruled  by  nature's  law — you  cannot  put  an  old 
head  on  young  shoulders.  The  awe-stricken  faces  of  the 
group  disappeared  instantly  as  they  burst  into  the  gar- 
den, where  they  found  their  school-fellow,  Peter  Veitch, 
at  woi'k. 

"  Peter  ought  to  have  his  tea  with  us,"  Bell  remarked. 

"  I  wonder  to  hear  you,"  said  her  sister.  "  What  would 
mamma  say  ?  He  is  not  at  all  in  our  sphere." 

"  No,"  said  John  Gilbert.    "  Peter  is  not  fit  to  oa!  with 


QUIXSTAR.  91 

Clara  and  Julia  de  Lacy,  the  daughters  of  a  gentleman." 
He  stopped,  for  he  had  begun  to  peel  a  turnip  with  his 
teeth,  which  he  had  drawn  from  the  earth  and  washed  in 
the  burn.  The  others  followed  his  example ;  the  turnips 
were  delicious,  eaten  while  sitting  on  the  top  of  the  gar- 
den dike.  When  Peter's  hour  of  release  came  the  boys 
had  a  game,  the  girls  looking  on  from  the  top  of  the 
dike ;  then  they  all  adjourned  to  a  forest  of  gooseberries, 
and  came  pretty  close  up  with  happiness.  Being  hurt  by 
fruit  or  raw  vegetables  was  a  thing  unknown,  nor  did 
they  take  cold,  and  as  yet  cod-liver  oil  was  not ;  the  cod 
might  enjoy  his  liver  in  the  cool  retreats  about  New- 
foundland— for  that  virtue  could  go  out  of  it  was  still 
among  things  not  generally  known. 

But  the  dark  shadow  came  back  in  the  night.  John 
and  Tom  were  hardier  spirits,  and  they  buried  their 
heads  in  the  bedclothes,  and  put  themselves  rapidly  to 
sleep  with  the  multiplication-table ;  but  the  girls  wept 
bitterly.  Bell  could  not  sleep  ;  her  imagination  got  the 
upper  hand,  and  terror  took  possession  of  her,  till,  do  as 
she  would,  she  could  not  suppress  a  loud  scream,  which 
brought  Maddy  to  her  side  immediately. 

"  What  is  it  ?  what  is  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  could  not  help  it,  Maddy  !  I  thought  I  saw 
James  Raeburn  hi  his  coffin,  and  he  moved  !  I'm  cer- 
tain he  moved ! " 

"  Wheesht,  wheesht,  bairn  1 "  said  Maddy  soothingly, 
stifling  her  own  eeriness  at  such  a  statement;  ye've  been 
dreaming." 

"  But  do  you  think  it  possible,  Maddy  ?  Oh,  it  would 
be  horrible  ! " 

"  It's  no'  possible.  Try  no'  to  think  about  it,  and  fa' 
asleep." 

"  But  I  can't  sleep  !     Oh  what  a  fearful  life  an  under- 


92  QUIXSTAR. 

taker's  is,  to  feel  so  often  as  I  have  felt  since  James  died ! 
Money  can't  pay  them ! " 

Maddy  could  not  help  smiling.  "  They  get  used  to 
it,  ye  ken ;  they  get  used  to  it,"  she  said. 

"  Used  to  it !  I  would  never  get  used  to  it.  I  would 
be  in  a  perpetual  state  of  grief  or  terror." 

"  Have  ye  heard  about  Peter  Veitch  ?"  asked  Maddy, 
with  the  instinct  all  nurses  have  of  diverting,  turning  the 
thoughts  to  something  else  as  the  speediest  consolation. 

"  No,"  said  Bell  eagerly.  "  I  saw  him  to-night,  but 
I  heard  nothing  particular." 

"  Guess  what  business  he  wants  to  be  ?  " 

"  He  is  very  clever.  I  can't  guess ;  I  never  heard 
him  say  what  he  thought  of  doing." 

"  What  would  you  think  of  a  sailor  ?  " 

"  It  is  dangerous  ;  he  might  be  drowned." 

"No  fear!  he's  just  a  bit  cork.  But  I'se  warrant  his 
mother  will  be  clean  against  it.  I'm  sure  folk  that  hae 
bairns  havena  their  sorrows  to  seek." 

"  I  don't  think  Peter  will  ever  be  a  sorrow  to  his 
father  or  mother." 

"  If  he  persists  in  gaun  to  the  sea,  his  mother'll  greet 
her  een  out  about  it." 

"  He'll  not  go  if  his  mother  does  not  let  him,"  Bell 
said  in  a  drowsy  tone,  sleep  having  come  suddenly  on 
her. 

Maddy  waited  a  little,  and  all  being  quiet,  she,  in 
the  language  of  Effie's  models  of  composition,  retired 
once  more  to  her  couch  to  seek  repose. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

PETER  VEITCH  was  a  youth  of  affairs,  and  erratic  in 
his  habits,  if  he  could  be  said  to  have  habits.  His  mother 
sometimes  remarked  "  that  often  she  did  not  see  him  the 
whole,  blessed  day,"  but  of  late  he  had  hung  a  good  deal 
about  the  house,  watching  his  mother  performing  her 
small  household  duties,  while  he  employed  himself  with 
the  model  of  a  ship  he  was  making. 

"  Mother,"  he  said  suddenly  one  day,  "  I  think  I  could 
keep  a  house  myself,  and  make  the  meat  too." 

"  I  dinna  see  there's  ony  thing  to  hinder  ye,  if  ye  like 
to  tak'  patience  and  pay  attention.  I've  kenned  men 
that  lived  their  lanes ;  but  it's  no  common,  and  I  hope 
it's  no  in  your  lot." 

"  But  I  may  be  cast  on  a  desert  island,  mother." 

"  Weel,  when  that  happens,  it'll  be  as  weel  that  ye 
dinna  ken  about  housekeeping,  as  ye'll  no  likely  get  a' 
the  bits  o'  things  that's  needed  lying  ready  to  your 
hand ;  and  what  ye  diuna  ken  about  ye'll  no  miss  sae 
muckle. — Laddie,  hae  ye  nae  notion  o'  what  ye  wad  like 
to  be  ?  Wad  ye  no  care  for  being  a  gardener,  like  your 
farther?" 

"  I'm  no  gaun  to  be  a  gardener,  mother." 

"  Then  what  wad  ye  like  to  be  ?  "  and  a  light  flashed 
in  her  face.  "  Wad  ye  be  a  minister  ?  It  wad  cost  a 
heap,  but  we  wad  manage  it." 

"  If  I  wanted  to  be  a  minister,  or  a  doctor  either,  I 


C4  QUIXSTAR. 

would  manage  it,  but  I'm  no  gaun  to  be  onything  o' 
the  kind." 

"  Then  what  are  ye  thinking  o'  ?  Ye'll  hae  to  mak' 
up  your  mind  or  lang." 

"  I've  made  up  my  mind  lang  syne,  but  I  never  tell'd 
ye  for  fear  o'  vexin'  ye." 

"  Vexin'  me,  bairn  !  Ye'll  no  vex  me  if  ye  learn  an 
honest  trade  and  behave  yoursel'." 

"  Mother,  I  want  to  be  a  sailor." 

Mrs.  Veitch  looked  at  her.  son,  and  her  face  grew 
white.  "Laddie,  ye'll  no  say  that  again  unless  ye  want 
to  be  the  death  o'  me,"  she  said.  "  Ye  dinna  ken  what 
yeVe  speaking  about.  A  sailor !  that  comes  o'  readin' 
that  Crusoe  book.  If  I  had  kenned,  it  hadna  come 
within  the  door." 

"  It's  no  the  book's  fau't,  mother ;  readin'  it  didna 
mak'  me  want  to  be  a  sailor.  It  was  because  I  wanted 
to  be  a  sailor  that  I  read  it." 

"  Ye'll  never  gang  to  the  sea  wi'  my  consent,  Peter. 
Ye  dinna  ken  what  a  hard,  coarse  life  it  is ;  beside  the 
constant  awful  risk. " 

"Mother,  I've  set  my  heart  on't.  What  wad  ye 
do  for  your  tea  and  sugar  if  naebody  gaed  to  the  sea  ?  " 

"I'm  no  saying  that  naebody  should  gang  to  the 
sea;  I'm  only.sayin1  that  ye  shouldna  gang.  I'll  never 
get  a  wink  o1  sleep  if  it's  a  high  wind.  The  life  o'  a 
common  sailor — " 

"  But  I'm  no  gaun  to  be  a  common  sailor." 

"  Laddie,  what  can  ye  be  ?  " 

"Lean  be  an  uncommon  sailor." 

"  Ye  maun  aye  hae  your  joke,  Peter.  But  it's  a  hard 
life  a  sailor's — very  hard,  and  puir  pay." 

"  Gardeners  dinna  often  mak'  siller  either,  mother." 

"  But  it's  a  pleasant  job — what  the  Almighty  set  the 


QUIXSTAR.  £5 

first  man  to  do  afore  there  was  sic  a  thing  as  sin  and 
misery  in  the  warld." 

"  Ay,  but  Adam  didna  gang  out  o'  ae  gentleman's 
place  into  anither,  making  a'  things  right  and  tasting 
naething.  If  him  and  his  wife  had  hunkered  for  days 
among  strawberries,  and  packed  them  a'  up  for  the 
market,  without  putting  ane  in  their  mouths,  I  wadna 
blamed  them  for  eatin'  an  apple  when  they  had  the 
chance." 

"  Peter,  that's  a  daurin'  way  o'  speakin',  and  if  ye  gang 
awa'  to  the  sea  ye'll  just  break  lowse  frae  a'  that's  guid." 

"  I'm  nae  mair  likely  to  do  that  on  the  sea  than  on 
the  land. " 

"  Weel,  weel ;  ye'll  see  what  your  faither'll  say." 

"  He  said  I  wad  see  what  my  mother  wad  say." 

Mrs.  Veitch  said  no  more ;  she,  could  not  say  more 
just  then,  and  Peter  also  wisely  let  the  subject  drop. 
But  perhaps  Mrs.  Veitch  was  herself  to  blame  for  her 
son's  strong  seagoing  propensity.  It  has  been  stated  as 
a  softer  touch  relieving  the  rude  recklessness  of  the  race, 
that  the  thrifty  wives  of  the  Norsemen,  when  they 
handed  a  towel  to  their  husbands,  warned  them- not  to 
plunge  boldly  into  the  middle  of  it,  but  to  go  round 
the  sides,  and  come  to  the  middle  in  due  time,  making 
the  towel  serve  a  certain  fixed  period,  and  serve  it  well. 
Judged  by  such  traits  as  this,  Mrs.  Veitch's  veins  must 
have  run  Norse  blood  wholly ;  so  how  could  the  boy 
help  seeking  towards  the  sea?  Besides,  the  name 
Veitch  is  the  modern  form  of  the  grand  old  Norman 
De  Vesci,  which  brings  in  his  father  guilty  also.  No 
wonder  that  the  instinct  of  the  old  sea-rovers  broke  out 
in  Peter,  thus  hemmed  in  ;  he  had  hardly  a  choice. 

One  morning  Mrs.  Sinclair  having  tossed  up  the 
newspaper  topics  as  usual,  said  to  her  brother-in-law — 


96  QtJIXSTAR. 

"I  hear  that  boy  Veitch  wants  to  go  to  sea,  and 
his  parents  are  in  great  distress  about  it.  Could  you 
not  prevent  it  ?  Take  him  as  groom  or  something  ? 
I've  spoken  to  Mr.  Kennedy  about  it,  and  he  says,  '  Let 
the  boy  go ;  if  he  tires  he'll  come  back,  and  if  not,  why 
— the  navy  must  be  manned,'  but  it  is  his  parents  I  feel 
for.  I  have  a  deep  sympathy  with  parents." 

"  I  don't  want  a  groom,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  And  Peter  would  not  be  a  groom.  I  think  he 
means  to  rise  in  the  world,"  Bell  said. 

"  Poor  stupid  thing  !  What  does  he  expect  to  rise 
to  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

"  To  be  Admiral  of  the  Fleet,  probably,"  said  Mr. 
Sinclair. 

"There's  nothing  too  absurd,"  Mrs.  Sinclair  said. 
"  If  people  would  only,  as  Mr.  Kennedy  says,  know 
how  much  happier  they  would  be  by  resting  contented 
in  the  positions  in  which  they  find  themselves ! " 

"  Is  Mr.  Kennedy  unhappy  because  he  is  out  of  his 
original  position  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  What  was  his  original  position  ?  " 

"  His  origin  was  not  lofty." 

"  Maddy  says  he  once  worked  at  the  same  bench  as 
her  father,"  said  Bell. 

"  Indeed  !  "  and  Mr.  Kennedy  fell  in  Mrs.  Sinclair's 
esteem  from  that  hour.  It  is  to  be  hoped  he  never  had 
a  greater  fall. 

Mr.  Sinclair  meeting  Peter  Veitch  in  the  garden 
shortly  after,  said  to  him — 

"  I  hear  your  son  wants  to  go  to  sea,  Peter  ?  " 

Leaning  on  the  handle  of  his  rake,  Peter  gave  a  sigh 
and  said — 

"  Ay,  sir ;  it's  ower  true." 

"  Well,  Peter,  when  a  boy's  head  is  filled  with  that 


QUIXSTAR.  97 

idea,  he  is  not  likely  to  do  much  good  at  anything  else. 
Better  let  him  have  his  full  swing  at  once." 

"  Ay,  sir." 

"  But  do  you  not  think  so  ?  " 

"  There's  just  ae  thing  that  hinders  me  seeing  the 
thing  in  sic  a  distinct  light." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  Just  this :  that  I  happen  to  be  the  laddie's  faither." 

"  True,  Peter  ;  but  when  a  boy's  inclination  for  any 
line  of  life  is  so  decided,  it  is  a  cruel  thing  to  thwart  him 
— a  cruel  thing ;  "  probably  Mr.  Sinclair  was  thinking  of 
his  own  experience — "  And  you  are  not  the  first  father 
that's  had  to  give  in  in  such  a  case." 

"  Na ;  I'm  no  the  first,  and  I'll  no  be  the  last.  If  look 
ing  at  other  folk's  trials  is  ony  consolation,  it's  o'  a 
kind  that  may  be  gathered  by  the  bushel." 

"  What  I  mean  to  say,  Peter,  is  this.  If  you  make 
up  your  mind  to  let  the  boy  go.  I  know  a  captain  of  a 
vessel,  a  respectable  man,  on  whom  you  might  depend 
for  doing  well  by  him,  and  I'll  fit  him  out.  I'm  in  his 
debt,  and  would  like  to  serve  him,"  and  he  walked 
away,  leaving  Peter  to  chew  the  cud. 

"  He  means  weel,"  Peter  thought ;  "  but  he  kens  nae- 
thing  aboot  it.  It's  a  queer  thing  that  a  wilfu'  laddie  bent 
on  breaking  his  mother's  heart,  should  get  a  gentleman 
to  step  forward  to  help  him  to  do  it — very  queer." 

But  Peter  did  not  wish  to  break  his  mother's  heart, 

and  his  mother  felt  that,  whatever  she  might  say.     He 

had  that   dash  of  tenderness  in  his  nature — a  bit  of 

woman — which  no  good  man  is  without,  but  it  hardly 

made  him  falter  in  his  determination,  and  it  could  not 

change  it.    Coming  in  one  afternoon  with  a  headache,  he 

laid  himself  up  in  the  old-fashioned  chair  by  the  side  of 

'  the  fire,  and  leaning  his  head  in  the  corner  where  its  stiff 

5 


98  QUIXSTAR. 

upright  back  and  elbow  met,  he  shut  his  eyes  and 
listened  to  his  mother's  footsteps.  Boys  are  not  usually 
sentimental,  but  Peter  was  soothed  unconsciously,  and 
when  his  mother  stopped  in  one  of  her  many  journeys 
between  the  table  and  the  fire, — for  she  was  ironing, 
and  was  often  changing  her  irons — and  looking  at  him, 
said,  "  Puir  thing,  he  has  fa'en  asleep,"  and  went  and 
brought  a  shawl,  which  she  laid  softly  over  him,  she  did  a 
thing  he  never  forgot.  The  fireplace  was  a  wide  open 
one,  the  primitive  grate* — only  some  iron  bars  fixed 
between  stones,  which  stones,  even  those  behind  the  fire, 
were  all  white — the  smoke  curling  up  warily  and  softly, 
while  the  kettle  stood  among  the  white  scenery  like  a 
big  snail,  black  and  shining.  The  screen  on  which  Mrs. 
Veitch  hung  the  clothes  as  she  finished  them  was  stand- 
ing between  the  window  and  the  fire,  and  shaded  Pe- 
ter's face  from  the  light;  the  cat  was  sharpening  its 
claws  on  the  foot  of  it — a  favorite  employment  of 
pussy's.  Mrs.  Yeitch  gave  it  a  push  and  said, "  Gae  way, 
beast,"  then  glanced  at  her  son  to  see  if  the  noise  had 
roused  him,  but  his  eyes  were  still  shut.  He  was  not 
sleeping  though.  Many  times  when  he  was  up  among 
the  rigging  in  cold  and  fog,  and  his  ship  dancing  like  an 
egg-shell  on  a  wild  sea,  this  "  cottage  interior  "  came  up 
before  him.  The  drowsy  afternoon,  the  subdued  hum 
of  the  town,  his  mother's  footfall  and  pussy's  scratching, 
made  themselves  heard  amid  the  mad  roar  of  winds  and 
waters.  For  he  carried  his  point,  and  went  to  sea ;  and 
his  departure  was  not  by  any  means  an  event  in  the 
place.  His  father  went  with  him  to  the  station,  saw  him 
into  the  train,  shook  his  hand,  and  said — 

"  See  and  behave  yersel',  Peter ;  and  mind,  never  tell 
a  lee." 

"  I'll  try,  faither." 


QTTIXSTAK.  99 

And  the  boy  was  launched.  The  father  watched  the 
train  till  it  disappeared  in  the  distance,  then  walked 
home  slowly,  and  with  a  heavy  heart.  The  son  could 
not  sit  still;  he  leaned  back,  and  he  looked  out  of  the 
window,  and  he  whistled  ;  he  was  in  a  state  of  boundless 
elatiort:  he  had  gained  his  end;  he  was  abroad  in  the 
world  on  his  own  resources;  body  and  mind  were  effer- 
vescing with  young  life,  and  he  did  not  know  fear.  It  is 
to  be  doubted  that  fora  time  he  did  not  think  so  often  as 
he  should  have  done  of  the  old  folks  at  home.  His  moth- 
er had  gone  with  him  to  the  end  of  the  house,  and  said — 

"  Fare  ye  weel,  Peter,  and  tak'  care  o'  yoursel',  and 
dinna  forget  to  write  when  ye  have  a  chance." 

"  Yes,  I'll  write — I'll  no  forget,"  that  was  all,  and 
Mrs.  Veitch  turned  back  into  her  house,  and  sat  down 
arid  uncurled  and  smoothed  out  her  apron-strings,  her- 
face  set  and  vacant,  till  the  kettle  began  to  boil  and  make 
its  lid  dance,  diverting  her  thoughts  to  her  little  house- 
hold cares.  When  her  husband  came  in  he  drew  his 
chair  close  to  her,  and  laid  his  hand  on  hers,  and  they 
looked  each  other  in  the  face,  with  an  expression  some- 
thing like  that  of  a  child  that  does  not  know  whether  to 
laugh  or  cry,  and  won't  do  either.  The  wrench  was  a 
grievous  one,  but  there  was  hope  in  it. 

"Weel,  he  is  fairly  off,"  said  Peter;  "  but  he'll  be 
back  again  some  day." 

"  Ay,  if  he's  no  drooned,  and  doesna  dee  o'  hard- 
ship." 

This  pair  had  other  children,  but  these  had  left  the 
house,  and  were  jogging  on  in  a  decent  honest  way; 
they  caused  no  anxiety ;  Peter  was  their  yoimgest,  the 
light  of  the  house,  and  they  had  a  craving,  hungry  sense 
of  loss,  wakeful  nights  and  empty  days,  but  what  could 
they  do,  except  what  most  people  have  to  do  some  time 


100  QUIXSTAR. 

or  other — tighten  the  hunger-belt  and  move  on  ?  When 
people  sit  and  brood  over  their  sorrows,  necessity  or 
conscience  is  the  policeman  who  taps  them  on  the  shoul- 
der, and  says,  "  Move  on,  move  on  ;  you  are  doing  your- 
self no  good,  and  you  are  hindering  the  business  of  life ;" 
and  they  move  on,  and  the  healing  process  is  begun. 
Nature  never  makes  a  rent  but  she  immediately  sets 
about  trying  to  repair  it.  She  can't  fill  the  gap  and  put 
things  as  they  were,  but  she  will  smooth  and  beautify  it, 
she  will  blow  seeds  into  it  that  will  grow  and  fructify ; 
and  woe  betide  the  man  who  will  persist  in  pulling  them 
up  and  exposing  the  unsightliness  ! 

When  Miss  Raeburn  came  back  from  setting  her 
brother's  house  in  order,  she  was  not  long  of  calling  for 
Mrs.  Veitch.  "  And  Peter  is  away,"  she  said.  "  I  wish 
I  had  seen  him  before  he  left.  I'm  fond  of  Peter." 

Instead  of  condoling  with  Mrs.  Veitch  on  the  way- 
wardness of  boys  in  general,  and  of  her  son  in  particu- 
lar, Miss  Raeburn  took  Peter's  departure  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  his  choice.  If  I  had  been  a  boy 
I  think  I  would  have  gone  to  sea  too." 

"  Maybe ;  but  I  hope  when  Peter's  had  a  trial  o'  the 
sea  hell  come  back,  and  content  himsel'  at  hame." 

"  But  you  mustn't  hope  that.  You  must  think  that 
he'll  stick  to  his  business,  and  be  a  credit  to  it  and  you. 
If  a  sailor  is  not  extra  bad  he  is  likely  to  be  extra  good ; 
and  Peter  will  hold  by  the  right." 

"  Weel,  I  hope  so.  He  was  a  clever  laddie,  and 
there  was  nae  ill  in  him.  The  minister  ca'ed  ae  day,  an' 
he  said  the  navy  maun  be  manned,  as  if  our  bit  callant 
was  gaun  to  mak'  ony  difference  to  the  manning  o'  the 
navy,  puir  thing!  And  Mr.  Sinclair,  he  would  help  him 
too,  and  get  him  a  ship  wi'  a  gude  captain." 


QUIXSTAB.  101 

"  Indeed.  I  am  glad  to  hear  Mr.  Sinclair  took  an  in- 
terest in  him.  I  hardly  know  Mr.  Sinclair ;  he  seemed 
to  me  a  dry  kind  of  stick,  but  he  mustn't  be  that  alto- 
gether." 

"  He  was  kind  eneuch  to  Peter ;  but,"  she  said  bit- 
terly, "  it's  easy  for  folk  that  hae  nae  bairns  o'  their  ain 
to  say  the  navy  maun  be  manned." 

"  It  makes  a  difference,  no  doubt,"  said  Miss  Raeburn 
soothingly ;  "  but  there's  no  fear  of  Peter.  You'll  be 
proud  of  Peter  yet,  Mrs.  Veitch." 

"  I've  been  far  ower  proud  o'  him  already,  and  that's 
the  reason  he's  been  sent  away ;  and  maybe  I'll  get  used 
to  it ;  but  oh,  the  day's  lang,  and  the  house  is  dull." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MRS.  SINCLAIR  was  determined  to  have  a  tutor  for 
her  children,  in  consequence  of  the  place  Tom  held  in 
his  class  at  the  examination.  Such  a  position  was  only 
possible  to  him  either  by  palpable  neglect  or  partiality 
on  Mr.  Gilbert's  part.  She  had  not  yet  mentioned  her 
plan  to  her  brother-in-law,  as  she  was  not  sure  how  he 
might  receive  a  proposal  to  add  another  inmate  to  his 
household.  She  was  not  even  sure  that  she  herself  had 
a  firm  root  in  Old  Battle  House,  till,  to  her  surprise, 
Mr.  Sinclair  said  one  day,  "  How  long  do  you  mean  to 
stay  here  ?  I've  been  thinking  that  if  you  care  for  this 
place  you  may  as  well  remain  as  go  back  to  Eastburgh." 

This  proposal  looked  as  if  it,  were  an  impromptu, 
but  like  Sheridan's  brilliant  things,,  it  had  been  carefully 
thought  over  in  bed,  and  was  at  legist  pointed,  if  not  pol- 
ished. Mr.  Sinclair  had  considered  that  these  were  his 
brother's  children,  and  that  it  might  be  his  duty  to  keep 
an  eye  on  them.  Mrs.  Sinclair,  it  is  true,  was  not  his 
ideal  of  womanhood,  but  she  was  kindly  and  good-na- 
tured, and  his  sister-in-law,  so  he  took  this  step. 

"  My  dear  Adam,"  said  the  lady,  "  you  could  have 
said  nothing  that  could  give  me  more  pleasure.  We'll 
stay  ;  we  could  be  better  nowhere.  The  house  is  com- 
fortable, the  climate  good,  the  scenery  fine,  and  the  so- 
ciety not  inferior;  and  you'll  help  me  to  do  my  duty  to 
those  dear  children.  This  arrangement  quite  relieves 
my  anxieties." 


QUIXSTAR.  103 

"  Well,  I'm  very  glad  to  hear  it." 

"  And  do  you  know,  I've  been  thinking — Mr.  Gilbert, 
to  be  sure,  is  a  good  man,  and  for  Mrs.  Gilbert,  I  have 
nothing  against  her — " 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair,  wondering 
what  was  coming. 

"  No,  nothing ;  but  my  family,  I  find,  are  of  too  sen- 
sitive natures  for  an  ordinary  country  school,  and  I  have 
been  considering  the  propriety  of  engaging  a  tutor." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Mr.  Sinclair  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment ;  "  I  mean  that  Gilbert  is  a  very  fair  teacher, 
and  you'll  do  more  harm  than  good  by  making  another 
change." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  because  I  have  set  on  foot 
inquiries  for  a  tutor  already.  I  should  be  sorry  if  with- 
drawing my  countenance  from  Mr.  Gilbert  should  hurt 
him—" 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  doubt  he'll  be  able  to  stand  it.  The 
question  is,  Will  you  not  injure  your  children  ?  " 

"  I  hope  not — I  fondly  hope  not — if  I  get  a  proper 
person.  Mr.  Kennedy  has  spoken  to  a  friend  of  his  in 
Eastburgh,  a  man  of  experience,  and  he  is  to  bring  his 
judgment  to  bear  in  the  choice  of  one." 

"  Then  possibly  there  is  one  engaged  already  ?  " 

"  It  is  possible,  but  not  likely." 

"  If  he  is  not  engaged,  I  would  stop  the  thing  at 
once  ;  "  and  he  walked  away  thinking,  "  She  is  a  foolish 
woman.  It  would  take  a  microscope  to  discover  Tom's 
sensitive  nature  ;  " — while  Mrs.  Sinclair  thought,  "  He 
has  no  sympathy ;  still,  I  would  give  way  in  anything 
less  important,  but  where  my  children  are  concerned  I 
am  adamant." 

Adamant  may  be,  and  no  doubt  is  a  very  good  and 
necessary  thing  in  its  place,  still  you  would  have  said 


104  QUIXSTAR. 

that  if  children  could  be  spoiled  Mrs.  Sinclair  was  tin- 
woman  to  do  it ;  but  though  treatment  is  much,  the 
material  to  be  treated  is  more. 

When  Mr.  Gilbert  resumed  his  duties  he  found  his 
highest  class  decimated.  James  Raeburn  was  gone, 
Peter  Veitch  was  away,  Tom  Smith  was  at  an  academy 
in  Eastburgh,  and  John  Johnston,  the  dux  of  the  school, 
had  entered  a  lawyer's  office  in  that  city,  while — un- 
kindest  cut  of  all — Tom  Sinclair  was  reserved  for  pri- 
vate teaching.  Mr.  Gilbert's  son  kept  the  top  of  the 
class,  but  it  was  a  small  honor  to  be  at  the  top  of  a  row 
of  mediocrities.  The  schoolmaster's  eyebrows  looked 
bushier,  and  the  pendulous  under-lip  hung  heavier,  and 
his  feelings  betrayed  themselves  to  the  scholars  in — to 
them — flashes  of  unaccountable  anger,  and  he  went 
back  to  his  house  feeling  himself  an  injured  man.  "  To 
think,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  that  Raeburn  should  be 
making  thousands  a  year  while  I  drudge  on  here  for  a 
paltry  pittance,  and  even  the  opportunity  of  drudging 
seems  fast  disappearing  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Gilbert  cheerily,  as  he  came  in, 
"  the  children  tell  me  the  school  has  not  gathered  fully 
yet." 

"  Gathered — no  !  and  the  question  is,  Will  it  ever 
gather  '•: " 

"  It  has  always  gathered  yet,  and  there  seems  no 
reason  why  it  should  not  gather  this  year  as  usual." 

"  Do  you  know  that  Mrs.  Sinclair  has  not  sent  back 
her  children  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  the  loss  is  hers,  not  ours.  That  she  should 
fail  to  appreciate  your  abilities  does  not  surprise  me." 

"  Oh,  her  judgment  goes  for  nothing,  true  enough; 
but  you  can't  make  the  general  public  comprehend  that, 
and  it  is  a  slur  on  my  reputation." 


QUIXSTAR.  105 

"  Which  your  reputation  can  stand  triumphantly." 

"  Well,  well,  Mary,  I  can  only  hope  that  your  son 
may  be  more  successful  in  life  than  his  father  has  been." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  declared  herself  perfectly  satisfied  with 
her  husband's  measure  of  success,  which  was  true,  al- 
though, as  he  was  not  satisfied  with  it,  many  times  she 
wished  it  had  been  greater. 

Mrs.  Sinclair  secured  her  tutor,  and  the  evening  be- 
fore he  was  expected  she  took  an  opportunity  of  saying 
a  word  -to  her  children  on  the  subject.  They  were  in 
the  dining-room,  and  Mr.  Sinclair  was  standing  in  one  of 
the  windows  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  looking  out. 

"  Now,  my  dears,"  she  said,  "  you  know  we  begin  a 
new  era  to-morrow.  Mr.  Doubleday  comes — " 

"  What  a  name  for  Tom ! "•  cried  Bell.  "  I  could 
stand  a  doubleday  now  and  then,  but  poor  Tom !  Per- 
haps, though,  it  may  sometimes  be  read  a  doubleholi- 
day." 

Mrs.  Sinclair  would  have  enjoyed  her  daughter's  pun 
more  if  it  had  not  been  at  Her  son's  expense. 

"  Well,  I  want  to  speak  to  you  for  a  little,"  she  said. 
"  What  do  you  think  is  my  chief  earthly  wish  ?  "  paus- 
ing for  an  answer. 

"  That  papa  were  alive,"  said  Erne. 

"  That  Tom  may  be  a  great  man,"  said  Bell. 

Tom's  coming  greatness  at  this  moment  wrapped  it- 
self in  silence. 

"  Tom,  my  boy,"  his  mother  asked,  "  have  you  noth- 
ing to  say  ?  " 

"  No,"  was  Tom's  answer. 

"  Erne,  my  dear,  to  wish  that  your  papa  were  alive 

is  to  wish  what  is  impossible ;  to  wish  that  Tom  may 

may  be  a  great  man  is  to  wish  what  is  possible  enough  ; 

but  my  chief  wish  for  you  all  three  is  your  welfare.     In 

5* 


106  QUIXSTAR. 

getting  a  tutor  I  have  consulted  that  before  everything. 
The  young  man  who  is  coming  is  poor,  of  course,  but 
you  must  not  think  less  of  him  for  that ;  and  as  he  can 
have  seen  nothing  of  society,  his  manners  may  be  awk- 
ward, but  I  don't  desire  you  to  copy  them.  He  is  a 
good  scholar,  and  all  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  attend 
faithfully  to  your  lessons,  and  treat  your  teacher  as 
your  equal." 

"  As  their  superior,  you  mean  ? "  said  Mr.  Sinclair 
from  his  window. 

"  Yes,  children,  remember  he  is  your  superior  in  age, 
and  he  knows  more  than  you." 

"  And  it  is  possible  he  may  turn  out  a  great  man 
some  day,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  If  he  does,  Tom,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair,  using  the  spur 
gently,  "  he  has  begun  in  very  disadvantageous  circum- 
stances compared  with  you." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  a  great  man,"  said  Tom. 

"  You  won't  be  disappointed,  I  suspect,"  thought 
Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  Tom,  my  son,"  said  his  mother,  "  that  very  speech 
shows  greatness.  You  can't  help  it." 

"  If  I  can  be  great  without  helping  it,  I'm  willing," 
said  Tom. 

"  Goodness,  Tom  !  "  said  Bell,  "  are  you  to  be  the 
Great  Sinclair  ?  Mamma,  are  there  any  dormant  peer- 
ages in  our  line  ?  " 

"  Really  I  don't  know,  Bell." 

"  I  know,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  And  are  there  any  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  they  are  all  dormant  together." 

"  Tom,  you  must  waken  them,"  said  Bell. 

"  Be  quiet,  Bell,"  said  Tom.  "  I  tell  you  I  don't 
want  to  be  great." 


QUIXSTAR.  107 

"  But  if  you  can't  help  it — Thomas  Sinclair,  Earl  of 
Quixstar." 

"  That  will  do,  Bell,"  said  her  mother ;  "  don't  tease." 

Next  day,  when  the  tutor's  chariot  wheels  were 
heard  approaching,  Bell  and  Effie  ensconced  themselves 
in  the  windows  behind  the  curtains  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
the  coming  man.  Tom,  true  to  his  great  philosophizing 
nature,  was  lying  on  the  sofa,  the  current  of  his  exist- 
ence no  way  ruffled. 

Mrs.  Sinclair  entered  with  Mr.  Doubleday,  and  in- 
troduced him  to  his  future  pupils.  He  was  not  tall,  and 
he  was  thin ;  a  downy  film  was  on  his  chin  and  upper 
lip,  although  he  looked  old  enough  to  have  grown  a 
heavier  crop;  the  corners  of  his  mouth  were  turned  up 
a  little  on  his  cheeks,  which  gave  it  a  crescent  shape,  the 
effect  of  which  was  peculiar,  and  he  had  no  forehead  to 
speak  of,  or  if  he  had,  it  was  hidden  by  the  hair  grow- 
ing far  down  on  it,  and  then  standing  sheer  up  like  the 
scrubby  verdure  on  the  side  of  a  steep  hill.  Nor  was 
this  exterior  lighted  up  as  it  ought  to  have  been  by  the 
soul  within ;  on  the  contrary,  his  face  might  have  been 
that  of  a  sheep,  for  all  you  could  read  in  it.  Perhaps 
the  soul  found  it  difficult  to  get  up  an  effective  illumi- 
nation through  the  small,  dim,  short-sighted  eyes  that 
served  it  for  windows. 

"  All  the  tutors  I  have  read  of,"  thought  Bell,  u  had 
young  ladies  falling  in  love  with  them ;  it  will  be  a  very 
long  time  before  any  one  falls  in  love  with  our  tutor. 
I  never  saw  such  a  comical  mouth ;  it  is  like  the  pictures 
I  have  seen  of  elves." 

Nor  had  Mr.  Doubleday  "  an  elegant  manner  and 
an  engaging  address."  Even  Mrs.  Sinclair's  mind  mis- 
gave her,  notwithstanding  he  had  been  so  highly  recom- 
mended. Hitherto  she  had  striven  to  keep  her  children 


108  QUIXSTAR. 

unspotted  from  the  vulgar,  and  here,  by  her  own  arrange- 
ment, Avas  a  man  sent  into  her  house  apparently  to  de- 
feat her  efforts,  and  it  was  vexatious,  but  being  her  own 
arrangement  she  could  not  immediately  quarrel  with  it. 
If  Mr.  Doubleday  were  merely  awkward,  she  trusted  to 
her  own  influence  to  mould  his  manners,  and  she  set 
herself  to  do  it — to  put  him  at  his  ease,  as  she  thought ; 
the  truth  being  that  Mr.  Doubleday  could  have  stood 
before  kings  perfectly  at  his  ease,  not  from  an  excess  of 
assurance,  but  of  simplicity.  He  was  a  curious  being. 
After  he  had  been  some  time  in  the  house,  Maddy  pro- 
nounced, as  her  verdict  on  him,  "  that  it  was  surprising 
what  he  had,  and  what  he  hadna," — an  oracular  utterance, 
which  might  be  applied  to  most  people.  So  far  as  ap- 
peared on  the  surface,  what  he  had  was  an  aptitude  to 
teach,  and  a  child-like  unworldliness ;  Avhat  he  had  not  was 
a  capacity  for  putting  his  best  foot  foremost ;  consequent- 
ly you  will  not  expect  to  hear  that  he  was  ever  Prime 
Minister  or  commanded  the  Channel  Fleet,  or  in  any  shape 
often  .or  ever  saw  his  name  in  the  newspapers,  Maddy 
Fairgrieve's  greatometer.  .  He  felt  annoyed,  as  an  un- 
reasoning animal  may  do  by  a  fly  creeping  on  some  part 
of  its  body  which  it  can  reach  neither  w^ith  tongue  nor 
tail,  at  Mrs.  Sinclair's  efforts  to  mould  his  manners,  and 
he  generally  withdrew  to  his  own  room,  guided  by  the 
same  kind  of  instinct  as  leads  the  animal  to  take  refuge 
in  the  water. 

By  diligent  and  continuous  hammering,  as  the  months 
slipped  by  Mr.  Doubleday  began  to  elicit  sparks  from 
Tom's  latent  intellect,  and  even  to  make  him  take  pleasure 
in  his  lessons  ;  with  the  girls  he  had  no  difficulty — they 
were  not  stupid  by  any  means,  and  they  were  easily 
managed.  Besides,  their  mamma  kept  dropping  in  his 
ear  that  she  di<l  not  wish  them  made  learned  women; 


QUIXSTAR.  109 

he  was  to  lend  his  efforts  to  make  them  generally  intelli- 
gent, that  they  might  be  able  to  converse  well  and  agree- 
ably. It  was  hard  to  ask  Mr.  Doubleday  to  put  the 
roof  on  a  building  for  which  he  was  not  to  lay  any 
secure  foundation,  and  judging  from  his  own  powers  in 
this  line  he  was  not  very  likely  to  do  it ;  but  Mrs. 
Sinclair  trusted  a  good  deal  to  herself  on  the  point.  The 
likelihood  was  that  her  children  would  inherit  a  conver- 
sational gift — at  least  they  were  not  likely  to  be  infected 
with  it  by  Mr.  Doubleday.  He  was  rather  a  silent  person ; 
he  did  not  get  very  intimate  with  any  one  ;  nobody  ever 
heard  him  say  a  word  of  his  prospects,  his  retrospects, 
his  parents  or  relations,  if  he  had  any;  even  the  place  of 
his  birth  was  unknown.  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  put  him  into 
the  prophet's  chamber — the  minor  prophets'  chamber, 
a  small  room  which  overlooked  the  stable- yard,  but  he 
was  not  sensitive  to  affronts — not  that  there  was  any- 
thing creeping  or  abject  about  him,  but  he  did  not  no- 
tice them  ;  it  never  occurred  to  him  that  he  was  not  in 
the  best  room  of  the  house  ;  it  was  as  natural  for  him 
never  to  think  of  himself  as  it  was  for  Mr.  Gilbert  to 
be  always  thinking  of  himself. 

There  was  one  thing  about  the  tutor  that  worried 
Mrs.  Sinclair  most  particularly,  and  that  was  his  dress. 
She  said  to  her  brother-in-law,  "  I'm  sure  it  is  strange 
where  annoyances  come  from — there's  Mr.  Doubleday, 
he's  a  good  teacher,  and  if  he  is  no  acquisition  in  the 
house  he  gives  no  trouble,  but  he  dresses  like  a  scare- 

Cl'OW." 

"  Does  he  ?     I  have  not  noticed  it." 

"  Like  a  scarecrow ;  and  he  went  to  the  shoemaker's, 
it  seems,  with  an  old  shoe  in  each  pocket  to  get  them 
mended,  and  the  servants  are  laughing  at  him;  and  I 
don't  wonder.  It  is  a  pity  he  has  so  little  common  sense." 


110  QUIXSTAR. 

"If  Sir  Richard  Cranstoun  had  taken  his  shoes  to  the 
shoemaker  you  would  only  have  thought  him  eccentric." 
"  Yes,  if  Sir  Richard  had  done  it,  which  is  impossible. 
And,  thinking  he  might  be  short  of  money,  I  paid  him 
a  quarters  salary  in  advance,  and  spoke  to  him  about 
dressing  better." 

"  You  spoke  to  him  about  it !  I  could  not  have  done 
that." 

"  I  thought  it  a  duty." 

"  You  don't  know  what  the  lad  may  have  to  do  with 
his  money." 

"  I  know  that  his  first  duty  is  to  make  himself  look 
respectable.  Why,  people  will  say  I  don't  pay  him  suf- 
ficiently." 

"  But  if  you  do,  you  don't  need  to  care  what  people 
say." 

"  But  I  care,  and  if  I  see  it  necessary  I'll  speak  to 
Mr.  Doubleday  again.  If  people  are  not  respectable 
they  will  not  get  respect." 

"  Well,  they  can  want  it ;  that  kind  of  it  may  not  be 
the  breath  of  his  nostrils ;  he  won't  perish." 

"  If  people  are  to  be  hi  this  world  they  must  mind 
appearances." 

"  I  tlon't  see  the  must.'1'1 

"  But  I  see  it  very  distinctly. — There's  my  friend 
Miss  Raeburn  coming  in ;  I  am  very  glad. — Now,  Miss 
Raeburn,"  she  said,  after  the  usual  salutations  were  over, 
"  What  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Doubleday  when  you  see 
him  ?  do  you  not  feel  inclined  to  pity  him  ?  " 

"  I  feel  inclined  to  pity  a  great  many  people — not 
him  particularly.  I  think  he  enjoys  life.  I  watched 
him  a  good  while  one  day.  He  and  I  were  walking  the 
same  road;  he  did  not  notice  me;  he  was  kicking  a 
small  stone  before  him ;  sometimes  he  spoke  to  himself, 


QUIXSTAR.  Ill 

sometimes  smiled,  and  always  kept  sight  of  the  stone — 
following  it  and  giving  it  a  kick  farther  on." 

"  Do  you  think  he  can  be  crazy  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair anxiously. 

"  Not  a  bit.  I  think  his  mind  was  away  in  some 
vague  happy  reverie,  and  kicking  the  stone  was  a  kind 
of  unconscious  effervescence  of  his  mood.  No,  I  don't 
think  he  is  to  be  pitied." 

"  But  he  wears  shabby  clothes,  I  am  told,"  said  Mr. 
Sinclair. 

"  Oh,  but  that  does  not  disturb  him,  and  they  are  in 
keeping ;  Mr.  Doubleday  dressed  up  would  not  be  Mr. 
Doubleday.  No,  no,  the  old  clothes  don't  interfere  with 
his  enjoyment." 

"  But  they  interfere  with  mine,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair ; 
"  it's  all  very  well  for  you,  who  are  not  responsible,  and 
for  Mr.  Sinclair,  who  does  not  see ;  but  I  both  see  and 
feel,  and  if  he  is  to  be  here  he  must  dress  better ;  I  can't 
have  him  going  about  like  a  beggar.  How  would  you 
like,  Miss  Raeburn,  a  member  of  your  household  going 
about  an  object  of  pity  ?  How  would  you  like  to  be 
pitied  yourself,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  I  don't  in  the  least  doubt  that  I  am  pitied,  but  as  I 
pity  a  lot  of  people,  I  can't  in  reason  object  to  being 
pitied,  and  it  does  me  no  harm." 

"  It  ought  to  do  you  good,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  Perhaps  it  does,"  rejoined  Miss  Raeburn. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  you  are  pitied  for  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Sinclair ;  "  for  being  a  single  woman  ?  I  assure 
you  I  have  known  single  women  who  were  highly  re- 
spected and  most  useful  in  their  circle,  and  when  they 
conduct  themselves  well,  people  don't  laugh  at  them." 

"  But  I  don't  object  to  being  laughed  at,  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair," said  Miss  Raeburn.  "  If  I  could  in  any  way  add 


112  QUIXSTAR. 

to  the  enjoyment  of  my  fellow-creatures  I  would  feel 
that  I  had  not  lived  in  vain  ;v besides,  it's  a  diversion  I 
often  indulge  in  myself,  laughing  at  people — mostly  in 
my  sleeve,  it  is  true,  and  really  I  can't  help  it." 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Sinclair,"  said  her  brother-in-law,  "  see 
the  advantage  of  being  strong-minded.  Miss  Raeburn 
can  stand  either  pity  or  laughter." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  strong-minded,  very  far  from  it, 
and  it  is  well  for  you,  Miss  Raeburn,  that  you  are ;  but, 
excepting  always  my  great  bereavement,  there  is 
nothing  any  one  can  pity  me  for,  and  far  less  that  they 
could  laugh  at." 

"  It  is  a  mercy,"  said  Miss  Raeburn,  "  that  those  that 
need  the  armor  have  it,  and  that  those  who  haven't  it 
don't  need  it." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IT  was  generally  thought  and  said  that  Mr.  Sinclair 
had  been  a  very  active  business  man,  but  there  is  reason 
to  doubt  that.  A  genuine  business  man  in  ordinary 
health  does  not  at  fifty  retire  to  lead  a  sort  of  demi-idle, 
demi-student  life  in  a  country  place.  He  had  been  the 
head  of  a  large  and  flourishing  business,  but,  like  Queen 
Elizabeth,  his  merit  had  probably  consisted  more  in 
knowing  when  he  had  good  servants  and  letting  them 
do  the  work,  than  in  doing  it  himself;  and  when  he  ab- 
dicated, he  likely  followed  the  bent  of  his  taste.  But 
though  he  liked  retirement  and  his  own  sitting-room 
very  well,  it  is  not  necessary  to  suppose  that  he  could 
not  enjoy  the  company  of  such  a  lady  as  Miss  Raeburn, 
or  the  contrast  between  her  and  his  sister-in-law — quite 
the  contrary ;  he  had  even  a  romantic  vein  in  him,  which 
cropped  to  the  surface  occasionally,  and  might  have  been 
worked  with  advantage  if  there  had  been  any  one  to 
work  it. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Doubleday,"  he  said,  as  the  tutor  enter- 
ed, followed  shortly  by  his  young  friends ;  "  have  you 
got  the  labors  of  the  day  over  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  said,  taking  out  a  fat  overgrown  silver 
watch  and  looking  at  it ;  "  it's  past  six  o'clock.'1 

"  I'm  sure  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  Labors  of  the  day  !  "  Mrs.  Sinclair  said. 

"I  trust  you  and  the  dear  children  consider  them 
pleasures." 


114  QUIXSTAR. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  try  to  make  it  labor  both  to  them 
and  to  myself." 

"  Do  I  understand  you  aright  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am." 

"  You  said  you  tried  to  make  the  children's  lessons 
labor  to  them  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Mrs.  Sinclair  was  dumb. 

"  And  do  you  find  they  like  it  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  I  find  they  don't  like  it,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday ; 
"  hard  work  is  part  of  the  curse." 

"  Mr.  Doubleday  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

"  But,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday,  "  there  is  goodness  in 
it.  Hard  work  is  good  for  a  fallen  race.  Few  people 
learn  anything  that  is  worth  learning  easily." 

"  But  my  children  are  clever,  and  learn  easily.  They 
need  not  work  hard." 

"  The  girls  are  quick,  the  boy  is  dull,"  said  the  tutor. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Doubleday,  I  never  heard  any  one  say 
that  before.  You  must  be  taking  a  wrong  method  with 
Tom.  Although  I  am  the  boy's  mother,  I  can't  help 
seeing  his  abilities ;  they  may  not  be  quite  on  the  sur- 
face— " 

"No,  ma'am;  not  quite  on  the  surface,  but  I  don't 
despair  of  making  something  of  him,  although  it  will  be 
uphill  work  for  a  time." 

Now  this  might  be — and  taking  fallen  human  nature 
into  account,  like  Mr.  Doubleday,  probably  it  was — fun 
to  Miss  Raeburn  and  Mr.  Sinclair,  but  it  was  death  to 
Mrs.  Sinclair;  so  much  so,  that  she  lost  sight  of  the  shab- 
by clothes  in  the  tremendous  and  peculiar  enormity  of 
hearing  Tom  stigmatized  as  dull.  But  think  of  Mr. 
Doubleday  with  his  personal  appearance,  his  unfortu- 
nate dress,  and  his  atrocious  truthfulness — only  the 


QUIXSTAR.  115 

possession  of  the  intellect  of  an  archangel  could  enable 
him  to  force  a  path  in  this  world.  And  Mrs.  Sinclair, 
although  she  was  perpetually  blundering — good-natur- 
edly, it  is  true — on  the  weak  points  of  others,  became 
instantly  alive  when  she  herself  was  operated  on  in  any 
vital  part,  in  which  she  is  not  by  any  means  singular. 

"  Well,  but,  Mr.  Doubleday,"  said  Miss  Raeburn, 
"  Tom  will  waken  up ;  boys  generally  do  waken  up  after 
a  while." 

"  He  may  want  a  little  rousing,"  said  his  mother; 
"  but  you  never  made  a  greater  mistake,  Mr.  Double- 
day,  than  when  you  called  him  dull." 

"  He  does  not  get  time  to  be  roused,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair, 
who  saw  the  tutor's  dismissal  casting  its  shadow  before, 
and  wished  to  prevent  it.  "  He  is  never  long  enough 
with  any  one  teacher  to  get  into  a  system.  I  don't 
wonder  he  is  dull." 

"  Oh,  Adam !  how  can  you  be  so  cruel,  when  you 
must  have  seen  how  I  have  striven  to  do  the  best  I  can 
for  these  fatherless  children,  and  know  what  sleepless 
nights  I  have,  thinking  of  Tom's  future." 

"  His  present  is  of  more  consequence  meantime," 
said  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  That's  unfeeling  enough,"  thought  Miss  Raeburn, 
but  she  did  not  know  that  Mrs.  Sinclair's  pathos  came 
in  so  often  as  to  have  lost  a  good  deal  of  its  effect. 

"  So  far  as  I  have  seen,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday,  "  he 
has  no  particular  bent  in  any  direction,  but  he  is  not 
likely  to  do  much  harm  in  the  world.  I  have  known 
boys  who  were  positively  vicious." 

Poor  Mr.  Doubleday !  He  did  not  know  that  truth, 
or  what  may  be  supposed  to  be  truth,  had  better  some- 
times be  left  at  the  bottom  of  its  well. 

Aught  of  evil  that  had  gathered  was  dispersed  how- 


116  QUIXSTAR. 

ever  by  the  entrance  of  the  children,  and  after  tea  Mr. 
Doubleday  went  to  his  own  room,  not  to  chew  the  cud 
of  offended  dignity,  as  the  genus  tutor  is  apt  to  do,  but 
to  get  on  with  the  process  of  making  himself  a  dungeon 
of  knowledge. 

"  That  man  certainly  has  a  crack,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair, 
when  the  door  closed  after  his  exit. 

"  Cracked  or  not,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair,  "  I  would  advise 
you  not  to  think  of  another  change." 

"  He  has  not  been  brought  up  at  a  court,  that's  one 
thing  easily  seen,"  remarked  Miss  Raeburn. 

"  I  doubt  I  have  been  unfortunate,"  Mrs.  Sinclair 
said ;  "  but  I  can  hardly  think  of  dismissing  him  imme- 
diately." 

"  Don't  mamma,"  said  Bell ;  "  we  all  like  him.  Only 
this  forenoon  there  was  a  button  hanging  off  his  coat, 
and  I  said  I  would  sew  it  on ;  you  should  have  seen  how 
grateful  he  was;  I  was  ashamed  it  was  such  a  trifle. 
When  I  do  a  thing  of  that  kind  for  Tom,  I  am  glad  to 
get  off  without  a  scolding  for  not  doing  it  right." 

"  Clever,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair  after  Mr.  Doubleday's 
young  friends  had  left  the  room.  "  Mr.  Doubleday  says 
the  girls  are  clever ;  I  hope  they  are  not  too  clever ; 
clever  women  are  often  disagreeable — men  don't  like 
them." 

"  Don't  they  ?  "  said  Miss  Raeburn. 

"  No,  they  don't ;  you  must  have  heard  that  surely, 
Miss  Raeburn  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  aware ;  you  see  my  experience  is  not 
wide,  and  not  being  clever  myself  I  can't  say." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  give  us  your  opinion,  Adam  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

"  Well,  when  I  have  been  persecuted  by  dulness,  I 
have  thought  the  opposite  quality  might  be  a  good 


QUIXSTAR.  117 

change,  but,  like  Miss  Raeburn,  my  experience  is  not 
wide." 

"  Far  too  narrow,  and,  I  doubt,  not  very  fortunate, 
or  you  would  think  more  of  women  than  you  do.  Do 
you  know,  Miss  Raeburn,  Adam  thinks  women  quite  in- 
ferior to  men  ;  but  I  have  hopes  of  converting  him  yet." 

"  You  won't,"  said  Miss  Raeburn.  "  Mr.  Sinclair, 
like  me,  has  been  brought  up  in  that  faith,  and  it  goes 
with  his  grain ;  it  goes  against  mine,  and  yet  I  have  not 
been  able  to  shake  it  off;  it's  a  superstition  I  hardly  ex- 
pect to  be  able  to  shed  before  I  die,  although  reason  and 
observation  are  all  against  it." 

"  Perhaps,  if  I  have  been  unfortunate  in  my  feminine 
acquaintance,  you  may  have  been  in  your  masculine, 
Miss  Raeburn  ?"  said  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  Well,  I  have  never  come  across  any  of  the  dozen 
representative  men  of  the  age,  still  I  cling  to  the  super- 
stition, because  it  is  a  rest  even  to  think  of  a  lesser 
providence 'from  whom  you  can  get  a  certain  sound 
when  you  are  in  perplexity,  even  though  you  find  the 
oracle — not  dumb-,  far  from  it — but  fallible,  wonderfully 
fallible." 

"  Do  you  take  advice  often,  Miss  Raeburn  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Sinclair. 

*"  That's  my  weakness,  Mr.  Sinclair.  I  always  take 
advice  when  I  think  it  good,  and  I  often  ask  it,  for  I 
like  to  give  pleasure.  You  can't  please  a  man  more  than 
by  asking  his  advice,  except  by  taking  it." 

"  How  does  he  feel  when  you  don't  take  it  ?  " 

"  Like  a  man,  I  hope." 

"  He  would  need  all  his  manhood  to  bear  him  up.  I 
hope  you'll  not  try  me  so  cruelly,  Miss  Raeburn." 

"  When  I  ask  you  for  advice,  Mr.  Sinclair,  all  you 
have  you  to  say  is,  that  you  won't  give  it." 


118  QUIXSTAR. 

"  Would  that  not  be  rude  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  can  say,  '  I'm  not  a  bit  more  capable  of 
advising  you  than  you  are  of  advising  yourself,  Miss 
Raeburn.' " 

"  But  if  I  did  not  think  that  ?  " 

"  Then  you  must  either  be  rude,  or  give  it  and  take 
the  consequences ;  a  little  affliction  might  be  good  for 
you." 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,"  cried  Mrs.  Sinclair,  who  caught  the 
last  words.  "  If,  for  instance,  Adam,  you  had  married 
and  lost  your  wife,  you  would  have  been  so  improved — 
you  have  no  idea.  My  husband  used  to  say  that ;  he 
used  to  say  to  me,  '  If  I  had  not  had  you,  my  dear,  I 
might  have  grown  as  curt  and  dry  as  Adam." 

Miss  Raeburn  could  not  help  laughing.  "  Quite 
true,  Miss  Raeburn,  I  assure  you,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

"  Am  I  curt  and  dry  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  There  now,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair ;  "  that's  how  people 
get  into  peculiar  habits  and  ways,  and  don't  know  it,  if 
they  have  no  one  to  tell  them ;  that's  where  a  wife  would 
have  been  so  useful  to  you." 

"  But  you  said  I  was  to  lose  her  ?  " 

"  But  you  would  not  have  lost  her  influence.  I'm 
always  thinking  what  would  have  pleased  Mr.  Sinclair, 
and  then  I  can  sympathize  not  only  with  all  women  who 
have  husbands,  but  with  all  who  have  lost  them." 

"  You  can  give  pity  also  to  those  who  never  had 
them  ?  "  said  Miss  Raeburn. 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair,  "  experience  widens 
one's  sympathies  in  a  way  you  would  not  believe." 

"  In  a  way  one  would  not  believe — that's  true,  I  am 
sure,"  thought  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  Adam  stayed  longer  with  us  to-night  than  he  usu- 
ally does,  Miss  Raeburn,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair,  when  her 


QUIXSTAR.  119 

visitor  was  about  departing.  "  I  think  he  enjoys  your 
company  ;  don't  be  long  in  coming  back.  I  am  sure  if 
he  were  to  marry  a  suitable  elderly  lady  I  would  be  too 
happy.  Now  that  we  are  here  he  does  not  need  to  do 
it  for  the  sake  of  comfort — he  could  not  be  more  com- 
fortable ;  but,  do  you  know,  I  used  to  be  haunted  by  the 
notion  that  he  would  marry  a  servant  some  day.  Now 
don't  be  long  in  coming  back." 

"  Thank  you ;  no,  I  won't ;  but  you  must  bring  Mr. 
Sinclair  to  see  me ;  he  can't  enjoy  my  company  more 
than  I  do  his  and  yours,"  and  they  shook  hands,  Miss 
Raeburn  thinking,  "  Well,  she  is  a  good-natured  goose 
after  all,  and  he  can't  be  ill-natured,  or  he  would  not 
have  asked  her  to  stay." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

IT  was  true  that  Mr.  Sinclair  did  not  generally  linger 
long  in  the  family  Sitting-room,  but  occasionally,  espe- 
cially if  it  chanced  to  be  a  wet  day,  he  remained  a  con- 
siderable time,  walking  up  and  down,  a  sort  of  peripa- 
tetic philosopher,  varying  his  march  by  stopping  to  look 
out  from  the  windows  or  to  speak.  Luckily  there  was 
no  individual  with  finely  strung  nerves  to  be  annoyed 
by  the  inconstant  motion  and  vibration,  but  neither  was 
there  any  one  to  think  that  there  was  music  in  his  foot- 
step ;  it  was  merely  "  my  uncle,"  or  "  my  brother-in-law," 
who  had  a  habit  of  walking  in-doors. 

One  wet  day  Bell  was  sitting  at  the  table  working 
busily,  her  very  heart  in  her  work,  which  was  some  sort 
of  millinery.  As  her  uncle  passed  and  repassed  she  no- 
ticed him  look  at  her,  and  without  thinking,  but  with  a 
wish  for  sympathy,  she  held  up  a  spray  of  artificial 
flowers  to  him  and  said,  "Isn't  that  pretty?"  He 
glanced  first  at  the  flowers,  then  at  her,  and  said,  "  Poor 
thing ! "  and  resumed  his  walk  and  the  thread  of  his 
meditations.  Bell  went  on  arranging  the  flowers  in  her 
hat  or  bonnet,  or  whatever  it  was,  while  the  three  parts 
of  pity  and  one  of  contempt  that  had  made  up  her  uncle's 
look  and  tone  as  he  said  "  Poor  thing ! "  entered  her  very 
soul  and  killed  her  happiness  outright.  However  Miss 
Raeburn  might  enjoy  it,  Bell,  in  common  with  her 
mother,  did  not  like  to  be  pitied.  She  thought,  "  Uncle 


QUIXSTAR.  121 

thinks  me  silly,  but  I'm  not,  and  I  won't  be  pitied  ;  I'll 
get  Mr.  Doubleday  to  teach  me  mathematics  and  other 
things,  and  111  work.  Uncle  thinks  I  care  for  nothing 
but  my  bonnet,  but  he'll  see  that  I'm  not  altogether  silly." 

A  whole  course  of  lectures  on  the  higher  educa- 
tion could  not  have  roused  or  quickened  a  mind  so  much 
as  these  two  words  of  Mr.  Sinclair's,  "  Poor  thing ! " 
But  no  thanks  to  him.  A  man  who  can't  enjoy  seeing 
a  girl  in  her  teens  touching  up  her  dress,  and  doing  it 
with  buoyancy  and  spirit  for  the  mere  unconscious  hap- 
piness of  seeing  a  very  bright  thing — herself — look 
brighter,  you  are  sure  not  only  misses  that  pleasure,  but 
he  misses  many  others  that  lie  about  for  the  picking  up, 
and  he  is  to  be  pitied,  only  that  what  people  don't  know 
of  they  don't  miss;  still,  one  can't  help  hoping  that 
whether  he  knew  it  or  not,  Mr.  Sinclair  enjoyed  his 
walk  more  with  Bell  and  her  finery  beside  him  than  if 
the  room  had  been  empty.  Bell  went  on  with  her  work ; 
she  was  born  a  milliner,  and  she  worked  the  more  quickly 
for  the  sting  she  had  got.  Mr.  Sinclair  saw  it,  and  he 
thought,  "  She  is  quite  pleased  with  that  trumpery;  her 
soul  is  in  it ;"  and  again  he  pitied  her,  but  being  her  na- 
ture— feminine  nature — there  was  no  help  for  it.  But  it 
was  not  her  nature,  only  a  very  small  part  of  it,  appro- 
priate to  the  short  season  it  was  meant  to  last,  and  the 
fleeting  character  of  it  might  have  drawn  out  his  sym- 
pathy. From  being  a  pleasure,  dress  will  become  a  duty, 
a  bore,  a  drag,  and  finally  a  burden,  to  be  gladly  laid 
down  when  the  mortal  shall  put  on  immortality. 

Yet  Miss  Raebxirn  thought  a  good  deal  might  have 
been  made  of  Mr.  Sinclair  had  he  been  taken  in  time,  as 
Mrs.  Sinclair  had  suggested,  and  his  sympathies  gradu- 
ally and  naturally  developed ;  and  she  was  right^  proba- 
bly ;  if  Bell  had  been  his  own  daughter,  for  instance,  he 
6 


122  QUIXSTAR. 

might  have  understood  her  better — for  love,  like  death, 
carries  a  torch  into  hidden  places. 

Effie  was  not  more  fortunate  in  gaming  her  uncle's 
approbation  than  her  sister.  Not  that  she  placed  her 
delight  in  ribbons  and  flowers — far  from  it ;  but  she 
read  continually,  and  her  reading  was  of  a  kind  as  piti- 
able in  Mr.  Sinclair's  eyes  as  Bell's  millinery.  Did  he 
expect  that  she  was  to  take  to  the  masterpieces  of  liter- 
ature as  a  duck  to  the  water  ?  It  would  have  been 
melancholy  if  she  had,  but  there  was  no  fear  of  it ;  she 
read  endless  tales,  and  she  did  more — she  wrote  tales,- 
which  she  read  only  to  her  sister.  Bell  thought  she 
copied  them,  but  she  said  they  were  her  own,  which 
they  were,  so  far  as  a  talent  for  imitation  and  a  good 
memory  would  permit. 

As  for  Tom,  his  uncle  did  not  expect  much  from 
him.-  If  he  kept  quietly  along  the  well-trodden  middle 
way  he  would  verify  his  relative's  highest  hopes. 

A  mother  with  great  expectations,  an  uncle  with 
very  moderate  expectations,  and  a  tutor  who  never 
formed  expectations  of  any  kind,  were  probably  com- 
plementary to  each  other,  and  made  circumstances  more 
advantageous  to  these  young  people  than  they  on  the 
surface  appeared. 

Bell  did  not  find  her  sister  as  enthusiastic  for  more 
and  deeper  studies  as  herself,  but  she  drew  Effie  into  her 
plans,  and  got  her  mother's  consent  likewise.  "  If  you 
really  want  to  study  these  things,  my  child,"  said  Mrs. 
Sinclair,  "  you  may.  You  know  I  am  apt  to  be  too  in- 
dulgent; not  that  it  will  cost  me  anything,  for  Mr. 
Doubleday's  salary  is  the  same  whatever  he  teaches,  but 
I  daresay,"  and  she  brightened  good-naturedly  as  the 
idea  occurred  to  her," "  as  he'll  have  more  trouble,  I'll 
give  him  more  money,  and  take  the  opportunity  of 


QUIXSTAR.  123 

speaking  to  him  about  his  dress  again, — he  really  needs 
a  word  even  yet."  And  Mrs.  Sinclair  gave  him  this 
word  with  immense  tact,  as  she  thought,  really  with 
blundering  good-nature.  But  Mr.  Doubleday's  feelings 
lay  deep ;  she  had  not  the  power  to  reach  them  ;  and  it 
was  a  mercy, — the  poor  man  had  crooks  enough  in  his 
lot  without  a  set  of  nerves  on  the  surface  for  any  stray 
fingers  to  play  on,  like  telegraph-wires,  by  which  a  false 
agonizing  message  may  be  sent  either  from  thoughtless- 
ness or  wickedness  at  any  time. 

"  I'm  afraid,  Mr.  Doubleday,  we'll  give  you  a  good 
deal  of  trouble,"  said  Bell,  when  they  began  the  new 
curriculum. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday. 

"  I  hope  you'll  not  grudge  it  very  much  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  wanted  to  do  this  at  first,  but  your  mother 
objected,  and  Mr.  Sinclair  said  it  would  be  of  no  use." 

"  It  won't  do  us  any  harm,  will  it,  Mr.  Doubleday  ?  " 
asked  Bell. 

"  Harm  !  the  getting  of  knowledge  is  ecstasy,  pure 
ecstasy.  Many  a  time  I  wish  I  could  throw  oif  my  body 
as  I  do  the  clothes  your  mother  bothers  me  about — that 
I  might  burst  into  infinity  and  know  even  as  I  am 
known." 

The  girls  looked  at  him.  "  You  mean,"  said  Effie, 
"  that  you  wish  to  die  ? " 

"  No,  not  till  it  is  God's  will.  But  never  suppose  it  is 
no  use  learning ;  the  more  you  learn,  you  will  feel  better 
and  humbler  and  happier — at  least  I  have  found  it  so." 

"  But  are  people  who  know  a  great  deal  not  proud 
of  it?"  aeked  Effie. 

"  The  more  people  know,  the  better  they  see  how 
ignorant  they  are. — Come,  we  must  begin ;  it  is  a  slow 
process,  but  I'll  do  my  best  not  to  tire  you." 


124  QUIXSTAR. 

"  Conic  Sections,"  said  Bell;  "what  are  Conic  Sec- 
tions?" 

u  You  know  the  figure  of  a  cone — a  fir-top  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Doubleday. 

"  Yes,  oh  yes ! " 

1  Well," — and  he  proceeded  to  explain  the  mystery. 
Bell  followed  him  closely.  "  I  understand  -that,"  she 
said,  "  that's  very  plain ;  and  that's  the  first  lesson  in 
mathematics,  is  it  ?  " 

"  The  first !  "  said  Mr.  Doubleday,  smiling,  "  no,  not 
the  first." 

"  But  you  think  I'll  be  able  to  learn  mathematics, 
do  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  take  trouble." 

Bell  felt  when  she  had  mastered  her  lesson  a  satis- 
faction which  perhaps  came  within  a  hundred  miles  of 
Mr.  Doubleday's  pure  ecstasy,  and  gave  her  some  glim- 
mering of  the  possibility  of  it.  Mr.  Sinclair  had  un- 
wittingly shifted  her  mental  soil  a  little,  and  behold, 
what  farmers  know  as  an  unsown  crop  appeared — 
alongside  millinery  came  up  mathematics.  A  pupil 
who  could  and  did  sew  on  his  buttons,  and  made  an 
effort  to  sympathize  with  his  thirst  for  knowledge,  and 
put  her  lips  to  the  same  chalice  to  sip  as  she  was  capa- 
ble, was  a  dangerous  proximity,  or  would  have  been 
for  an  ordinary  tutor,  but  Mr.  Doubleday  was  not  sus- 
ceptible. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MKS.  SINCLAIR  was  correct  in  her  opinion  that 
people  would  think  she  had  got  in  Mr.  Doubleday  a  bar- 
gain. The  Smiths,  the  clever  family  that  has  been  men- 
tioned, said  there  was  an  unmistakable  sensation  of 
Smike  about  him,  which  was  an  exaggeration,  but  clev- 
er people  are  always  under  a  temptation  to  exaggerate. 

The  Smiths'  house  bore  some  general  resemblance 
to  Old  Battle  House,  and  Mr.  Doubleday  being  occa- 
sionally rather  absent-minded,  one  day  walked  straight 
in,  and  sat  down  in  a  room  where  two  Misses  Smith 
were  at  work  in  one  of  the  windows.  The  Misses 
Smith  knew  their  man,  and  saw  the  mistake  instantly, 
but  they  said  nothing,  and  Mr.  Doubleday  meditated 
for  half  an  hour  or  so,  and  then  asked,  "  What  time  is 
dinner  to  be  to-day  ?  "  "  It  won't  be  for  two  hours  yet," 
Miss  Smith  answered.  "Ob,"  said  he,  "there's  com- 
pany," and  he  rose  with  the  view  of  summoning  his  pupils 
to  the  schoolroom.  Looking  from  a  window  as  he 
passed,  he  suddenly  became  aware  that  he  saw  a  hedge 
where  no  hedge  should  be,  then  he  glanced  round  the 
room  and  said,  "  I  haven't — have  I  come  into  the  wrong 
house  ? — I  beg  pardon,  ladies,"  and  with  a  very  red  face 
he  made  a  hurried  exit.  This  was  the  bones  of  the 
story,  but  the  Misses  Smith  could  not  resist  dressing 
it  up  in  very  funny  flesh  and  blood — the  last  instance 
of  absence  of  mind,  and  having  happened  in  their  own 
experience  it  was  the  more  effective. 


126  QUIXSTAK. 

These  young  ladies,  as  a  matter  of  course,  never 
spoke  of  Mr.  Doubleday  under  any  other  name  than 
"  Smike."  Bestowing  nicknames  was  a  favorite  branch 
of  the  family  cleverness,  and  it  is  certain  a  happy  nick- 
name can  hardly  be  the  produce  of  dull  brains ;  but 
they  were  only  in  the  second  class  of  merit,  they  took 
names  made  to  their  hands,  but  they  affixed  them  clev- 
erly, as  when  they  called  the  chief  butcher  of  the  place 
— the  father  of  the  boy  who  was  dux  at  the  examina- 
tion— a  man  of  very  bland  and  smooth  manners,  who 
could  persuade  you  that  fat  was  lean,  "  Old  Bloody  Po- 
liteful," — also  happily  borrowed  from  a  work  of  fiction. 

On  another  occasion  Mr.  Doubleday  made  the 
same  blunder,  but  this  time  he  did  not  fall  among 
thorns.  He  sauntered  into  the  schoolmaster's  dwelling; 
it  was  not  at  all  like  Old  Battle  House,  but  it  was  near 
it,  and  he  innocently  turned  in  at  the  one  gate  instead 
of  the  other,  and  was  kindly  received  by  Mrs.  Gilbert, 
and  made  aware  of  his  mistake.  "  But  don't  go,  Mr. 
Doubleday,"  she  said ;  "  we'll  be  very  glad  to  make 
your  acquaintance — sit  down." 

Mr.  Gilbert  came  in,  and  flung  himself  wearily  into 
a  chair;  he  had  been  acquainted  with  Mr.  Doubleday 
for  some  time,  and  was  not  on  ceremony. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Doubleday,"  he  said,  "  if  I  had  my  days 
to  begin  again,  I  would  not  be  a  schoolmaster." 

"  Do  you  not  like  teaching  ?  To  me  there  is  no 
pleasure  like  communicating  knowledge,  except  acquir- 
ing it ;  I  like  to  see  a  child's  eye  kindle." 

"And  how  many  of  them  kindle?  "  asked  Mr.  Gil- 
bert. "  But  it's  not  the  teaching  I*  object  to,  it's  the 
perpetual  worry  ;  you're  every  one's  drudge.  Just  this 
forenoon  Kennedy  came  in  with  his  advice  and  inter- 
ference ;  he  might  have  been  better  employed  on  a  Sat- 


QUIXSTAR.  127 

urday.  To-morrow  he'll  give  us  a  collection  of  com- 
monplaces, read  in  a  drawling  tone.  Can't  the  man 
speak  in  the  pulpit  as  he  does  elsewhere  ?  how  would 
he  like  if  I  were  to  call  on  him  on  Monday  and  give 
him  my  candid  opinion  of  his  performance  ?  " 

"  If  you  thought  it  would  benefit  him,  you  should 
do  it,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday. 

".Whether  it  would  benefit  him  or  not,  it  would 
make  the  place  too  hot  for  me,"  said  Mr.  Gilbert. 

"  Not  if  Mr.  Kennedy  is  of  the  right  spirit.  But  you 
could  leave  the  p*lace." 

"  I  would  need  to  know  where  I  was  going  first ;  a 
man  who  has  given  hostages  to  fortune  in  the  shape  of  a 
wife  and  family  must  think  what  he  is  about." 

"  True  so  far,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday.  "  I  thought 
Kennedy  a  good-natured  man." 

"  So  he  is,  when  he  gets  everything  his  own  way." 

"  This,"  said  Mrs.  Gilbert,  as  John  entered,  "  is  our 
only  son,"  and  she  said,  with  not  a  little  pride — he  was 
growing  a  tall  fine-looking  lad — "  And  our  family  prob- 
lem just  now  is  what  to  do  with  him." 

"  We'll  not  make  him  a  schoolmaster, — that's  one 
thing  clear  at  least,"  said  his  father. 

"  He  might  be  anything,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday  sim- 
ply, and  with  undisguised  admiration  at  John's  goodly 
exterior. 

"  It's  not  so  easy  being  anything,  sir,"  said  John,  sit- 
ting down  as  if  he  were.going  to  stay  and  listen  defer- 
entially to  his  elders ;  but  he  soon  disappeared. 

The  two  teachers  talked  about  the  details  of  their 
profession,  and  when  Mr.  Doubleday  left  both  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Gilbert  went  with  him  to  the  gate  of  Old  Battle 
House.  It  was  a  still  December  night,  with  a  heaven- 
ful  of  big  burnished'  stars  shining  out  of  it.  None  of 


128  QUIXSTAR. 

these  three  were  in  love  with  nature ;  they  liked  her, — 
Mr.  Doubleday  as  far  as  his  short-sightedness  let  him 
see  her  beauties,  Mrs.  Gilbert  with  as  much  love  as  she 
could  spare  from  her  children,  and  Mr.  Gilbert  liked  her 
in  his  garden  among  thriving  vegetables  and  trim  flower- 
beds. It  was  as  much  as  you  could  expect.  The  dozen 
representative  men  of  the  age  that  Miss  Raeburn  spoke 
of  may  love  and  pursue  a  dozen  objects  passionately 
and  successfully,  but  ordinary  people  are  restricted  to 
narrower  limits. 

"  How  beautiful !  "  said  Mrs.  Gilbert. 

"  Grand,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday. 

"  Very  fine,"  said  Mr.  Gilbert. 

When  you  show  your  carte  to  any  one,  you  know 
at  once,  if  you  have  eyes  in  your  head,  whether  it  is 
being  looked  at  with  the  gaze  of  love,  or  friendly  inter- 
est, or  mere  curiosity,  or  indifference  ;  so  nature  knows 
her  lovers  right  well  too,  and  rewards  them  accordingly. 
To  what  seems  a  very  poor  life  she  will  give  a  depth 
and  height  of  enjoyment,  and  now  and  then  a  steeping 
in  bliss  which  other  people  have  no  idea  of,  and  even 
these  three  persons  with  their  mild  and,  considering  the 
occasion,  commonplace  remarks,  were  unconsciously  led 
out  of  the  grooves  in  which  they  daily  ran  more  or  less 
smoothly,  as  they  stood  in  the  deep  silence,  into  which 
there  entered  in  subdued  and  reverent  mood  the  mur- 
mur of  the  river.  Only  two  persons  in  Quixstar  were 
having  a  very  close  interview  with  the  stars  that  night, 
one  a  Mr.  Singleton,  brother  to  Lady  Cranstoun,  who 
was  at  this  time  living,  or  rather  dying,  at  Cranstoun 
Hall ;  he  had  got  himself  seated  at  a  window,  and  the 
lights  in  his  room  put  out,  and  he  gazed  and  gazed  till 
death  and  the  grave  he  was  so  near  were  shut  from  his 
sight,  and  he  lost  himself  in  life  and  immortality ;  and 


QUIXSTAB.  129 

Miss  Raeburn,  who  with  a  shawl  round  her  shoulders 
and  another  on  her  head,  was  out  on  a  balcony  on  the 
roof  of  her  house.  Miss  Raeburn  never  told  her  love 
of  nature,  and  unless  you  had  been  very  intimate  with 
her  you  would  not  have  guessed  it ;  but  here  she  was, 
worshipping  the  heavenly  bodies  with  all  her  might. 
Her  servant  came  up  to  say  that  Mr.  Kennedy  had 
called.  "  My  stars  !  "  cried  Miss  Raeburn,  looking  up, 
"  has  he — well,  ask  him  to  come  here." 

Mr.  Kennedy  ascended';  he  had  often  been  on  the  bal- 
cony on  a  summer's  day,  but  not  before  on  a  winter  night. 

"Are  you  not  afraid  to  risk  your  valuable  health, 
Miss  Raeburn  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  don't  see,  coming  out  from  the  light ;  but  I 
am  clad  for  the  occasion,"  she  said,  "  and  on  a  night  such 
as  this  I  like  to  shake  hands  with  David." 

"  David  who  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Kennedy. 

"  David  Jesse,  perhaps — I'm  not  sure  of  his  surname. 
I  hope  I  am  not  irreverent,  the  King  and  Psalmist  I 
mean." 

"  Ah ! "  -said  Mr.  Kennedy ;  "  the  stars  were  finer  in 
Palestine  than  here,  I  believe." 

"  These  are  quite  fine  enough  for  me,"  said  she. 

"  Speaking  of  stars  puts  me  in  mind, — I  was  calling 
on  Peter  Veitch's  wife  as  I  came  along;  when  she  was 
at  the  door  with  me  she  looked  up  and  said,  '  There's  the 
stars,  puir  things ;  I  wonder  if  they  are  shining  on  oor 
Peter  ?  '  Curious  notion  of  the  woman  to  pity  the  stars." 

"  Ah,  when  Mrs.  Veitch  thinks  of  Peter  she  is 
touched  with  compassion  for  all  creation." 

"  They've  had  a  letter  from  the  boy — better  than  his 
class  usually  write ;  it  does  not  come  hoping  they  are 
well,  as  it  leaves  him  at  present." 

"  Mr.  Kennedy,  that  must  be  a  happy  form  of  ex- 
6* 


130  QUIXSTAR. 

pression,  or  it  would  not  have  recommended  itself  to 
such  a  mass  of  our  fellow-creatures,  or  survived  so  long. 
I  wonder  who  used  it  first.  It  is  something  to  have 
sent  a  sentence  rolling  so  far  and  wide.  But  I  hope 
Peter's  letter  did  not  leave  him  ill,  at  least  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  he's  well  enough ;  his  mother  will  be  too 
glad  to  let  you  see  it ;  poor  body,  she  believes  every 
one  as  interested  in  Peter  as  she  is  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  fine  faith,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  pleases  her,  but  it  is  apt  to  bore  other  peo- 
ple." 

"  That's  not  the  way  it  affects  me.  Just  the  last  day  I 
was  in  Eastburgh,  a  young  man  I  had  only  seen  once  or 
twice  before,  came  up  to  me,  and  grasping  my  hand  very 
firmly,  said,  '  Miss  Raeburn,  you  have  heard  of  my  sister's 
death  ? '  He  never  doubted  my  sympathy,  and  his  faith 
roused  my  feelings  nearly  as  much  as  his  sorrow.  As  I 
walked  on  after  he  had  emptied  out  all  his  grief,  I 
thought, '  In  time  you'll  learn  to  hide  your  sorrows.  You 
won't  believe  that  the  feelings  of  every  chance  acquaint- 
ance beat  in  unison  with  yours  ; '  but  some  people,  Mr. 
Kennedy,  keep  that  faith  to  the  last,  and  it  is  the  genius 
of  the  heart — it  is  more,  it  is  the  kernel  of  Christ's  re- 
ligion." 

"  You  are  enthusiastic,  Miss  Raeburn,  but  if  you  go 
about  the  world  believing  every  one  as  interested  in 
your  affairs  as  you  are,  the  chance  is  that  you  are  a  bore 
or  a  fool,  or  both." 

"  Then  the  fools  have  the  best  of  it,  Mr.  Kennedy ; 
for  it  is  a  glorious  faith." 

"  In  a  delusion.  You  must  take  people  as  they  are 
in  this  world,  Miss  Raeburn." 

"  Oh,  try  to  make  them  better,  and  genuine  sympathy 
will  do  much  towards  that." 


QUIXSTAR.  131 

"  Give  the  mass  of  people  plenty  to  eat  and  drink — 
that's  the  genuine  sympathy  they  care  for ;  and  in  this 
parish  they  are  pretty  well  seen  to." 

"  Yes ;  I  often  feel  thankful  for  that,  that  nobody 
round  us  need  be  in  actual  want." 

"  No  ;  our  charities  are  well  organized.  Lady  Cran- 
stoun's  soup-kitchen  does  a  great  deal  of  good,  especially 
at  this  season." 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

HEAKLSTG  of  Peter's  letter,  Maddy  Fairgrieve  called 
on  her  friend  Mrs.  Veitch  to  ask  the  particulars. 

"  There's  no  muckle  in't,"  Mrs.  Veitch  said,  producing 
it  from  between  the  leaves  of  a  Bible :  "  see,  ye  can  read 
it  if  ye  like." 

Maddy  glanced  over  it.  "  He  was  sick  for  a  day  or 
two,  but  is  all  right,  and  likes  his  business,"  was  her  sum- 
ming up  of  its  contents;  "  that's  a'  gude  news." 

"  I  dinna  ken,"  said  his  mother ;  "  if  he  hadna  liket  it 
he  wad  hae  come  hame  again." 

"  Peter'll  no  hen  though,  or  I'm  mista'en.  I  was  in 
asking  for  Nanny  o'  the  Nose  (this  was  an  old  woman 
w"ho  had  come  to  Quixstar  from  a  neighboring  hamlet, 
called  Friar's  Nose,  a  name  which  probably  echoed  a 
popular  witticism  some  two  or  three  hundred  years  old), 
as  I  cam  past.  I  heard  she  hadna  been  weeL:' 

"  What's  wrang  wi'  Nanny,  puir  body  ?  " 

"  She  tell't  me  a'  about  it.  She  had  gotten  some  or 
Cranstoun's  kail  (the  vulgar  name  for  the  article  dis- 
pensed from  her  Ladyship's  soup-kitchen) ;  gude  kail  she 
said,  but  ye  ken  there's  a  gey  twa  three  things  boiled 
up  among  them,  and  she  saw  something  sooming  about 
in  them  that  fairly  upset  her,  and  she  hasna  gotten  the 
better  o't  yet.  She  says  puir  folk  shouldna  be  nice,  but 
she  couldna  help  it." 


QUIXSTAR.  133 

"  I  ken  the  feeling,"  said  Mrs.  Veitcli ;  "  and  some- 
times ye're  easier  scomfished  than  others'." 

"  That's  true,"  said  Maddy ;  "  but  I've  kent  folk  that 
naething  wad  upset ;  no  puir  folk  eithei1.  They  were 
born  without  the  sense  o'  scunner,  and  really  it's  an  ad- 
vantage, especially  if  ye're  a  puir  body." 

"  Wee),  I  dinna  ken,"  said  Peter,  who  had  been  listen- 
ing ;  "  if  folk  hae  a  sense  o'  scunner,  even  if  they  hae 
naething  else,  they'll  try  to  fecht  up  to  something  better. 
I  was  in  Dixori's  house  the  nicht  \vi'  a  message  I  had 
for  him.  His  wife  was  making  the  parritch,  and  I  saw 
a  thing  I  never  saw  before — but  women  hae  a  talent  for 
invention,  there's  nae  disputing  that:  she  laid  seven 
messes  o'  parritch  on  the  table.  They  hadna  a  dish  in 
the  house,  except  a  jug  without  a  handle  the  milk  was  hi. 
The  bairns  were  cried  in,  and  stood  round  the  table  like 
a  wheen  swine  round  a  trough.  If  they  had  a  sense  o' 
scunner,  surely  they  couldna  come  to  that." 

"  I  never  heard  the  like  o'  that,"  said  Maddy ;  "  how 
are  the  folk  sae  ill  off?." 

"  They're  no'  ill  off,"  said  Peter ;  "  there's  six-and- 
thirty  shillings  gangs  into  the  house  every  week  that 
Dixon  and  his  son  like  to  Avork." 

"  I  pity  the.  woman,"  said  Mrs.  Veitch. 

"  Ye  needna  fash,"  said  her  husband ;  "  the  woman 
matches  the  men.  She  has  visits  frae  three  sets  o'  benev- 
olent leddies,  wi'  as  muckle  gumption  as  that  table ; 
and  she  tells  lees  by  the  yard,  and  a'  liker  truth  than  the 
very  truth  itsel',  and  gets  frae  them  a'.  If  shame  and 
her  were  even  acquent  they've  parted  company  for 
inony  a  day." 

"  I  wad  hae  thae  folk  threshed,"  said  Maddy,  with 
righteous  indignation ;  "  ye  can  only  mak'  the  like  o' 
them  feel  through  their  skins." 


134  QUIXSTAR. 

"Weel,  I  canna  say  I  approve  o'  flogging,"  said 
Peter  Veitch ;  "  but  I  wad  not  grudge  it  on  them,  if  it 
wad  mak'  them  ony  better.1' 

"  It  could  hardly  mak'  them  ony  waur,"  said  his  wife ; 
"  think  o'  the  like  o'  them  lickin'  up  charity,  and  mony 
a  gude  body  ill,  ill  off,  and  saying  naething  and  getting 
as  little.  Eh !  the  warld's  ill  divided." 

"  Ay,  gude  wife ;  ye've  gotten  a  nut  to  crack  there 
that's  broken  stronger  teeth  than  yours  trying't,  and 
it's  no  crackit  yet,  nor  ever  will  be  as  lang  as  we're 
here." 

"  I  saw  Mr.  Doubleday  passing  the  day,"  said  Mrs. 
Veitch,  "  as  if  he  was  bound  for  a  journey.  The  bairns 
maun  get  the  play  on  Saturday,  Maddy  ?  " 

"  Ay,  except  a  wee  while  in  the  morning.  He'll  be 
away  to  Eastburgh  posting  a  letter  to  his  sweetheart," 
said  Maddy. 

"  His  sweetheart !  preserve  me,  has  he  a  sweet- 
heart?" 

"  What  for  no  ?  "  said  Peter. 

"  Weel,  I  dinna  ken.  Some  way  a  body  doesna  think 
o'  the  like  o'  him  ha'eing  a  sweetheart.  Ye  -wad  think  it 
wad  never  come  into  his  head." 

"  Sweetheart  or  no,"  said  Maddy,  "  he  gets  letters 
often  aneuch,  but  he  never  sends  ony  away  frae  this  post- 
office,  so  I  jalouse  he  taks  the  answers  to  Eastburgh. 
There's  mair  in  him  than  ye  wad  think,  and  he's  awful 
saving." 

"  He'll  be  ettling  at  furnishing  a  house  by  and  by," 
said  Mrs.  Veitch. 

"  May  be,"  said  Maddy ;  "  he  wad  be  the  better  o' 
somebody  to  look  after  him ;  and  if  he  has  a  sweetheart 
she'll  be  able  to  do  that,  for  I'se  warrant  she  did  the 
courting,  and  it  wadna  be  done  in  hints.  It  wad  need 


QUIXSTAR.  135 

to  be  as  broad  as  it  was  lang  before  he  wad  ken  what 
she  was  after." 

"  Hae  ye  been  trying't,  Maddy,"  asked  Peter,  "  that 
ye're  sae  weel  up  to  it  ?  " 

"  What  wad  ye  say,  Peter  ?  I  dinna  think  but  I  wad 
be  better  at  it  than  a  gey  wheen  men  I've  seen  try  it. 
They  are  great  gowks  whiles.  But  I'm  putting  off  my 
time.  Gude-nicht  wi'  ye." 

"  Ye'll  get  the  stars  to  see  ye  yont,"  said  Mrs.  Veitch 
to  her  visitor  at  the  door. 

"  Ay,"  said  Maddy ;  "  they're  looking  as  if  they  had 
a'  been  new  rubbed  up  wi'  soap  and  whitening." 

Maddy's  notion,  from  a  housemaid's  view,  corrobo- 
rated Shakspeare's.  She  thought  the  heavens  inlaid 
with  patines  of  bright  gold,  susceptible  of  extra  lustre. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  pen,  like  some  creeping  things,  likes  a  rough 
surface  to  travel  over,  and  this  one  is  beginning  to  be 
of  the  opinion  of  a  gentleman  who  alighted  one  midsum- 
mer for  a  fortnight  in  Quixstar.  He  thought  life  at 
Quixstar  dreadfully  slow.  He  was  a  London  litterateur 
in  want  of  rest,  and  he  came  to  this  locality  seeking  it, 
and  did  not  find  it.  Poor  creature,  his  taste  was  so  vi- 
tiated by  the  whirl  and  rapidity  of  life  in  the  great  city, 
that  instead  of  resting  he  grew  restive,  and  from  sheer 
force  of  habit  and  want  of  anything  to  do,  he  sat  down 
and  made  "  a  paper  "  of  Quixstar  for  the  periodical  with 
which  he  was  connected.  And  it  must  be  acknowledged 
he  hit  its  points  cleverly,  viewed  from  his  elevation.  He 
stepped  from  an  omnibus  on  to  the  chief  street  of  the 
place,  and  there  was  great  calm.  Grass  growing  round 
the  paving-stones  gave  the  street  the  appearance  of  a 
fairies'  burying-ground.  You  thought  there  was  no  pop- 
ulation till  an  empty  barrel  being  rolled  along  brought 
man,  woman  and  child  to  every  door  and  window.  The 
shop-doors  were  mostly  kept  shut.  He  timidly  opened 
one,  not  sure  but  that  to  force  an  entrance  might  be  a 
particular  insult,  and  was  served  with  a  princely  appear- 
ance of  antediluvian  leisure.  He  found  that  only  two 
magazines  were  known  in  Quixstar,  and  nobody  read 
both.  His  own  periodical  was  unheard  of,  (He  thought 
this  melancholy.  Rather  he  should  have  exclaimed, 
"  Oh,  sensible  people  !  Oh,  blessed  place  ! ") 


QUIXSTAR.  137 

The  early  dinner  parties  and  small  evening  parties 
got  his  good-natured  quizzical  notice.  The  enjoyments 
of  Quixstar  were  mild  ;  its  quarrels  a  storm  in  a  tea-cup. 
"  Dulness,  dulness,"  he  said,  "  is  the  genius  that  broods 
over  the  place,  but  the  people  seem  contented — amen. 
The  minnow  in  a  pool  is  contented,  for  it  knows  not  of 
the  whale  amid  the  roar  of  Polar  seas."  Mr.  Spencer, 
so  he  was  named,  depicted  bits  of  Quixstar  with  his  pen- 
cil as  well  as  his  pen.  He  put  on  canvas  the  bridge,  and 
Peter  Veitch's  cottage  beside  it,  with  a  cow  standing 
near  the  door  in  a  meditative  mood.  Peter  watched  the 
progress  of  the  work.  He  liked  to  look  at  or  hear  of 
anything  beyond  his  ken,  and  the  artist  entertained  him 
with  the  glories  and  wonders  of  London. 

"  I  warrant,  sir,"  said  Peter,  "  ye  think  London  the 
ax'tree  o'  creation." 

"  You  should  pay  it  a  visit,  Mr.  Veitch,  and  judge 
for  yourself." 

"  Na,  na ;  we  hae  nae  time  here  for  jauntin',"  said 
Peter. 

"  Time  !  "  said  the  artist ;  "  I  think  time  is  the  most 
plentiful  commodity  you  have." 

"  It's  no'  a  commodity,"  said  Peter  ;  "  ye  canna  sell't." 

"  Can't  you  ?  If  I  give  you  work  for  a  day,  don't  I 
buy  your  time  ?" 

"  You  buy  my  labor,  no'  my  time.  If  time  could 
be  sell'd,  Mr.  Singleton  at  the  Ha'  wadna  be  deein'  at 
twenty -three,  and  Peter  Reid  living  oif  the  parish  at 
ninety-seven." 

"  That  wouldn't  be  selling  time,  it  would  be  selling 
life." 

"  And  what's  life  so  far  as  this  warld  is  concerned 
but  time  ?  "  asked  Peter. 

"  True,  but  few  would  sell  it." 


138  QUIXSTAR. 

"  I'm  no  sae  sure  o'  that,"  said  Peter.  "  Ye'll  no  say 
what  folk'll  do  for  siller,  and  it  wad  be  a  trade  in  high 
wages  and  light  wark." 

"  Faust  and  the  devil,"  said  the  sketcher. 

"  We  have  folk  here  that  dinna  believe  in  the  devil," 
Peter  remarked  in  answer  to  the  name  mentioned  with 
which  he  was  familiar ;  the  first  he  had  never  heard. 

"  Ah,  they  think  he  is  an  allegory,  do  they  ?  " 

"  Weel,  allegory  or  no,  the  mischief  has  been  done ; 
sure  aneuch  it's  nae  allegory." 

"  What  queer  fish  is  that  ? "  asked  the  painter  as 
Mr.  Doubleday  passed,  apparently  unconscious  of  him 
and  his  occupation. 

"  Queer  ?  "  said  Peter.  "  Ay,  he  does  look  whiles  as 
if  he  had  been  eaten  and  spued  again." 

"  Eaten  and  what  ?  " 

"  Ye  read  your  Bible,  nae  doubt,  sir  ?  "  said  Peter. 

"  Well— yes  I  do." 

"  And  wi'  the  understanding,  ye'll  find  spue  in  the 
Bible,  and  it  means — " 

"  I  see,  I  see  ;  but  who  is  the  fellow  ?  " 

"  He  is  the  tutor  at  Old  Battle  House,  an  innocent, 
but  a  dungeon  they  say." 

"  Innocence  and  a  dungeon,"  thought  the  southern, 
mystified  by  Peter's  very  provincial  notes;  "  well,  they 
have  gone  together  before  now.  Where  is  Old  Battle 
House?" 

"  The  first  big  house  on  your  left  hand  after  ye  cross 
the  brig  there.  Ye  should  mak'  a  picture  o'  it.  It 
would  be  grander  than  my  auld  biggin'." 

"  But  not  so  suited  to  my  purpose." 

"  Ye  should  ken  best.  But  do  ye  no'  think  that  the 
cow  there,"  pointing  to  the  sketch,  "  has  a  bit  touch  o' 
foun'er  in  her  fore-legs  ?  " 


QUIXSTAK.  139 

"Touch  of  what?" 

"  O'  founder.  She's  a  wee  shaky  in  the  fore-legs,  is 
she  no'  ?  " 

"  You  mean  she  is  not  standing  correctly.  I  don't 
see  that." 

"  Then  it's  a'  richt,  for  ye're  the  best  judge,  nae 
doubt,  or  should  be." 

The  artist  was  fully  persuaded  he  was,  and  when  he 
left  Quixstar  he  was  also  fully  persuaded  he  left  behind 
him  a  benighted  people — a  people  who,  given  an  orange, 
would  fail  to  suck  it :  they  had  life,  and  they  made,  noth- 
ing of  it.  But,  his  opinion  notwithstanding,  wherever 
there  are  human  beings  hearts  will  beat  and  brains  seethe, 
and  as  for  a  daily  round,  a  jog-trot,  where  is  the  life  that 
does  not  in  time  settle  into  that  ?  who  is  there  who  does 
not  feel  himself  bricked  in  by  circumstances  ?  Besides, 
the  young  fry  of  Quixstar  had  the  liberty  of  making  for 
the  open  sea  if  so  minded,  and  many  of  them  had  scat- 
tered themselves  over  the  world,  but  hitherto  nothing 
very  like  a  whale  had  reappeared.  The  knowledge  of 
this,  and  of  their  own  mediocre  lot  in  life,  did  not,  as 
Miss  Raeburn  sometimes  remarked,  prevent  every  suc- 
ceeding generation  of  parents  believing  that  their  chil- 
dren were  likely  to  do  something  great,  "  Not  an  un- 
natural, and  I  daresay  a  blessed  blindness,"  she  said  to 
good  old  Mrs.  Gilbert  when  that  lady  spoke  to  her  of 
her  grandnephew's  coming  departure  to  do  something 
somewhere.  The  old  lady  thought  that  Miss  Raeburn 
could  not  know  anything  about  it,  but  she  did  not  ven- 
ture to  say  so ;  she  never  entered  the  lists  with  Miss 
Raeburn,  who  had  a  reputation  for  being  "  clever,"  and 
an  unconscious  (no  doubt)  trick  of  making  people  feel 
that  she  was  not  a  dunce,  for  she  was  really  humble,  but 
always  impatient  of  absurdity.  Notwithstanding  that 


140  QUIXSTAK. 

her  perceptive  powers  were  a  little  opaque,  Mrs.  Gilbert 
frequently  did  not  enjoy  Miss  Raeburn's  cleverness,  and 
as  even  the  meritorious  and  laborious  bee  will  sting  if 
annoyed,  if  she  had  been  heard  to  make  the  observation, 
"  that  any  one  might  be  clever  who  allowed  themselves 
to  say  every  impudent  thing  that  came  into  their  heads." 
What  truth  there  is  in  that  the  reader  may  pick  out  for 
himself. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

CEKTAINXY  when  Mr.  Gilbert  was  in  good  spirits 
he  foresaw  great  things  for  his  son,  and  he  had  strong 
faith  in  him  and  them,  but  when  desponding,  when 
feeling  that  from  no  fault  of  his  own  he,  a  man  of  parts 
and  ambition,  was  fixed  to  all  appearance  as  schoolmas- 
ter of  Quixstar  for  life,  while  men  like  Mr.  Raeburn 
were  carrying  all  before  them,  he  wavered ;  but  hope 
was  still  in  the  ascendant :  he  could  not  only  brook  the 
idea  of  being  eclipsed  by  his  son,  but  he  could  smile  in 
glad  anticipation  of  it. 

John  Gilbert  had  no  particular  vocation  for  anything, 
but  he  would  have  preferred  being  a  gentleman,  taking 
that  word  to  mean  a  man  who  had  plenty  of  money 
without  working  for  it.  That,  however,  he  could  not 
be,  although  he  thought  it  hard.  Why  should  he  not 
have  been  born  to  wealth  as  well  as  the  Cranstouns — 
the  elder  of  whom  would  succeed  his  father,  the  young- 
er having  already  inherited  his  uncle  Mr.  Singleton's 
fortune — or  like  the  Raeburns  ?  John  had  been  edu- 
cated solely  by  his  father,  and  there  was  one  lesson  he 
had  imbibed  thoroughly,  although  it  had  only  been  giv- 
en at  odd  times,  and  was  not  in  the  list  of  classes 
Mr.  Gilbert  taught,  but  it  had  fallen  in  good  soil,  and 
it  was  this — if  people  have  not  money,  they  are  noth- 
ing. Not  that  Mr.  Gilbert  worshipped  money,  far  from 
it.  In  most  cases  he  looked  down  on  rich  men — looked 
down  on  them  from  a  height.  It  was  men  of  ability 


142  QUIXSTAE. 

and  character  apart  altogether  from  wealth  and  position 
that  he  held  in  esteem,  but  somehow  or  other  his  son 
gathered  from  -his  father  the  lesson  that  has  been 
mentioned.  He  did  not  gather  it  from  his  mother. 
The  dyer's  hand  gets  subdued  to  what  it  works  in  ;  but 
there  are  in  this  world  people — and  it  is  a  mighty  privi- 
lege to  know  such — who  can  lie  among  the  pots  and 
yet  appear  like  doves;  not  that  there  was  anything 
about  Mr.  Gilbert  that  could  actually  smear,  very  far 
from  that,  but  there  was  much  that  could  corrode ;  yet 
the  circumstances  of  Mrs.  Gilbert's  life  had  neither 
soured  nor  narrowed  her  jiature,  she  could  afford  to 
esteem  her  rich  neighbors  as  well  as  her  poor  ones. 

John  Gilbert's  going  away  was  not  an  era  in  Quix- 
star  any  more  than  Peter  Veitch's  had  been,  and  it  was 
less  so  in  his  father's  house  than  Peter's  had  been,  for  he 
was  only  going  to  enter  a  merchant's  office  in  East- 
burgh,  and  was  to  come  home  every  Saturday,  therefore 
there  were  no  set  speeches,  or  tears,  or  even  kisses, — 
the  occasion  was  not  too  trying,  and  it  was  hopeful  in 
the  extreme. 

Then  Tom  Sinclair  began  to  get  restive  under  Mr. 
Doubleday.  He  took  his  mother  into  his  counsel,  and 
told  her  "  he  had  made  up  his  mind  what  he  was  going 
to  be,  and  he  would  need  no  more  education.  Latin  and 
Greek  were  all  nonsense,  and  people  were  beginning  to 
see  that.  If  Bell  wanted  to  go  on  with  Latin  she  might 
as  well  do  that  as  nothing,  which  was  what  girls  gen- 
erally did,  but  he  could  not  afford  to  lose  more  time." 

"  You're  right  there,  Tom,"  said  Bell ;  "  I  know  what 
you  want  to  be,  and  the  sooner  you  begin  the  better." 

"  In  what  direction  does  your  taste  point,  my  son  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

"  I'm  going  to  be  a  banker,"  said  Tom. 


QUIXSTAR.  143 

"  A  banker,  my  boy !  That  is  a  line  of  life  in  which 
there  is  but  small  scope  for  ability." 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  said  Bell ;  "  in  emergencies 
bankers  have  been  Prime  Ministers — at  least  in  France, 
and  it's  a  wide  field,  Finance." 

"  But  you  would  need  to  take  care,  Tom,"  said  Erne, 
"  or  you  might  do  mischief." 

"  And  get  into  a  biographical  dictionary  this  way," 
said  Bell :  " '  Sinclair,  Thomas,  a  Scotchman,  born  of  re- 
spectable parents,  organized  the  great  Quixstar  Bubble 
Company,  which  brought  ruin  on  thousands  of  his  coun- 
trymen. Died  abroad ;  date  uncertain.' " 

"  Bell,"  said  her  mother,  "  that's  carrying  your  joke  a 
little  too  far. — But  you'll  think  better  of  it,  my  boy,  and 
we'll  see  what  your  uncle  says." 

"  I've  made  up  my  mind,"  said  Tom. 

"  It  must  be  awfully  monotonous,  Tom,"  said  Bell. 
"  It's  mere  mechanical  work.  You'll  get  no  say  in  the 
management  till  your  head  is  as  bare  as  a  turnip.  I've 
been  in  various  banks,  and  could  see  that.  You  would 
not  need  to  dirty  your  hands,  though,  and  they  always 
have  capital  pens — quills  that  make  it  a  treat  to  sign 
your  name." 

Effie  said,  "  A  bank  clerk  once  told  me  that  they 
have  periodical  burnings  of  bank-notes." 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom ;  "  the  dirty  ones  that  are  withdrawn 
from  circulation." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that,  Tom  ?  "  asked  Bell.  "  Is  it 
not  done  to  teach  the  young  men  the  fleeting  and 
worthless  nature  of  the  article  they  work  among." 

"  How  will  they  feel  when  they  are  actually  burning 
thousands  of  pounds  ?  "  said  Effie. 

"  Like  Cleopatra  when  she  drank  dissolved  pearls, 
perhaps,"  said  Bell. 


144  QUIXSTAR. 

"  The  notes  are  kept  in  by  a  grating,"  said  Tom, 
"  that  there  may  be  no  mistake." 

"  Well,  Tom,"  said  Bell,  "  if  you  are  determined,  I'll 
give  you  a  lot  of  thin  paper  which  you  can  cut  into 
squares,  and  a  damp  sponge  to  wet  your  finger  and 
thumb,  and  you  can  begin  to  practise  your  business.  It 
must  take  some  practice  to  count  notes  so  cleverly,  and 
I  wouldn't  like  you  to  be  awkward  among  the  rest." 

"  But  Tom  is  not  determined,"  said  his  mother.  "  I 
really  think,  my  boy,  it  would  be  a  burying  of  your 
talents  to  go  into  a  bank.  I  would  not  by  any  means 
force  your  inclination,  but  I  won't  deny  it  will  be  a  deep 
disappointment  to  me  if  you  do,  and  we  must  consult 
your  uncle." 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  be,  mother?"  said 
Tom. 

"  I  think,  my  boy,  that  we  are  bound  to  let  our  light 
shine  in  the  world — that  it  is  wrong  to  bury  our  talents. 
— But  here  comes  your  uncle,  we'll  hear  what  he  says. 
Adam,"  she  said,  "  my  son  has  just  been  talking  of  his 
wish  to  begin  life — to  be  doing  something  in  the  world, 
in  short — "' 

"Tired  of  your  lessons,  Tom,  are  you?"  said  his 
uncle. 

"  What's  the  use  of  learning  things  I'll  never  need — 
wasting  time  !  "  said  Tom. 

'•  What  do  you  wish  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  be  a  banker." 

"  Then  be  a  banker.     I  see  nothing  to  hinder  you." 

"  But,  Adam,  only  think  a  moment.  There  is  no 
scope  for  ability  in  banking." 

"  The  less  the  better,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  But  it's  a  mere  throwing  away  of  Tom,"  urged 
Mrs.  Sinclair.  "  If  he  had  even  gone  to  sea  like  the  boy 


QUIXSTAR.  .  145 

Veitch,  or  studied  for  the  bar  like  the  butcher's  boy,  he 
might  have  made  a  name ;  but  what  can  he  do  in  a 
bank  ?  " 

"  Peter  Veitch  had  a  taste  for  danger,  and  the  boy 
Johnson  may  inherit  a  sweet  persuasive  tongue ;  but  if 
Tom  wants  to  spend  his  life  counting  money, — if  it  is 
his  deliberate  choice,  let  him  have  it.  I  don't  think  he 
will  disgrace  you." 

"  Disgrace  me  !  "  gasped  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

"  No ;  he  is  honest,  and  will  be  proof  against  temp- 
tation, I  don't  doubt." 

"  I  am  painfully  disappointed,  Tom,"  said  his  moth- 
er, after  Mr.  Sinclair  left  the  room.  "  Your  uncle  has 
no  idea  of  parental  feeling.  One  would  have  thought 
he  might  have  taken  the  place  of  a  father  to  you  all. 
If  he  had  been  capable  of  that  he  would  have  felt  some 
natural  ambition  that  your  talents  should  not  at  least  be 
buried.  But  it  is  only  what  I  might  have  expected. 
Well,  I'll  consent  that  you  try  banking;  you'll  not  like 
it,  you'll  feel  your  powers  cramped ;  but  it  won't  be 
too  late  to  change,  and  it's  gentlemanly,  not  like  a  trade, 
still— " 

"  Not  like  a  trade,  mamma  ! "  said  Bell ;  "  it's  the 
very  root  and  essence  of  trade, — buying  and  selling 
money.  But  Tom  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  that 
part  of  it ;  he'll  only  be  a  calculating-machine." 

"  Wisdom  will  die  with  Bell,"  said  Tom. 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Bell. 

When  Bell  went  to  the  schoolroom,  she  said  to  Mr. 
Doubleday — 

"  Tom's  going  away ! " 

"  Going  away  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He's  taken  it  into  his  head  all  of  a  sudden 
that  he'll  be  a  banker,  and  says  he  won't  need  any  more 
7 


146  QUIXSTAR. 

lessons ;  and  uncle  says  he  can  get  him  into  a  bank  at 
Eastburgh  at  once." 

Mr.  Doubleday  was  at  one  of  the  windows  cutting 
a  quill,  and  said  nothing  for  some  minutes.  Tfien  he 
said — 

"  In  that  case  I'll  have  to  go  away  too,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  You  would  not  think  it  worth  while  staying  to 
teach  girls  only,  would  you  ?  " 

"  Worth  while  ?  "  he  repeated,  turning  round. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  I  wish  you'd  stay.  Mamma  speaks 
of  sending  us  to  a  boarding-school ;  I  hate  the  very  idea 
of  a  boarding-school." 

"  Your  mamma  does  not  wish  me  to  stay,  then  ?  " 

"  Mamma  is  good  :  say  you'll  stay,  Mr.  Doubleday, 
and  I'll  manage  it." 

"  Stay  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  don't  want  to  go— I'll  never 
want  to  go." 

"  Then  you  must  like  being  here ;  I  wouldn't  have 
thought  it.  What  do  you  like  it  for  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — I  really  don't  know." 

"  It  must  be  the  tout  ensemble  of  the  whole,"  said 
she  laughing.  "  Do  you  not  like  your  own  home  better  ?  " 

"  No. " 

"  But  you  have  friends,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

This  was  a  topic  on  which  Mr.  Doubleday  never  en- 
larged, and  Bell  felt  she  had  been  thoughtless  in  touch- 
ing on  it.  She  feared  his  home  and  friends  must  not  be 
very  delightful,  or  he  would  speak  more  of  them. 

When  this  little  conversation  was  repeated  to  Mrs. 
Sinclair,  she  said — 

"  He  doesn't  know  what  he  likes  to  be  here  for  ?  He 
might  know  that  he  never  was  as  well  treated  in  his  life. 
Few  people — very  few,  would  have  had  the  patience 


QUIXSTAR.  147 

with  him  I  have  had ;  and  as  for  your  uncle,  you  would 
think  he  makes  him  of  fully  more  importance  than  he 
does  me.  But  I  have  got  him  to  dress  decently ;  and 
since  you  are  so  anxious,  he  may  stay,  although  I  con- 
sider myself  foolish  in  indulging  you  so  far." 

Four  of  these  Quixstar  school-fellows  were  now  in 
Eastburgh,  living  very  innocently  as  yet,  and  one  was 
sailing  on  the  sea,  and  one  was  sleeping  the  long  sleep 
in  the  churchyard  at  Ironburgh — a  grand  churchyard, 
where  all  kinds  of  absurdities  were  perpetrated  in  stones 
and  shells,  and  flowers  and  words  over  the  dead,  and 
which  on  a  summer  Sunday  was  thronged  by  crowds 
in  gay  clothing,  as  if  it  were  a  fair.  Did  they  go  to 
mourn,  or  meditate,  or  what  ?  A  strange  concourse  of 
the  living  and  the  dead,  enough  to  make  a  fastidious 
corpse  yearn  for  a  lone  hillside  and  waving  grass. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MRS.  SINCLAIR  accompanied  her  son  to  Eastburgh, 
and  saw  him  settled  in  a  way  suited  to  his  circumstances 
and  prospects. 

"  Tom,"  she  said,  looking  round  the  handsome  rooms 
she  had  got  for  him,  "  I  desire  that  you  should  be  as 
comfortable  as  possible,  and  that  you  should  cultivate 
good  society.  You  have  excellent  introductions ;  and 
people  should  try  to  be  acquainted  with  those  above 
them  rather  than  below — those  who  are  better  than 
themselves,  and  they  are  sure  to  improve  both  in  mind 
and  manners." 

"  But  if  a  lot  of  fellows  insist  on  improving  them- 
selves by  sticking  to  me,  what  am  I  to  do — that  is,  fel- 
lows below  me  ?  " 

"  You  need  not  encourage  them.  There's  no  diffi- 
culty in  that,  Tom." 

"  Shake  them  off?  And  if  the  people  better  than  me 
shake  me  off?" 

"  They  won't  do  that,  that's  entirely  different." 

"  I  don't  see  •  it.  I've  read  in  books  that  we  should 
always  choose  the  best  society.  Pity  the  best  society ; 
it  would  need  to  strengthen  its  rails." 

"  Tom,  I  earnestly  trust  that  with  these  good  rooms, 
and  your  introductions,  and  the  tastes  I  have  tried  to 
instil  into  you,  you  won't  disappoint  me  in  this,  after  I 
have  yielded  to  all  your  wishes." 


QUIXSTAR.  149 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  mother.  I  won't  need  much 
society,  and  what  I  have  won't  be  wicked — I  promise 
that ;  but  I'm  not  ambitious." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  also  went  with  her  son,  and  handed 
him  over  to  the  care  of  a  decent  elderly  woman  she  had 
long  known,  and  with  whom  John  declared  he  would 
get  on  famously. 

"  You  won't  feel  dull,  John,  when  you  come  in  at 
night  ? "  said  his  mother  anxiously :  "  you'll  only  have 
five  nights  a  week,  and  you  can  amuse  yourself  with  a 
book." 

"  Dull !  I  don't  know  what  dull  means.  No  fear,  I'll 
get  on." 

"  And,  John,  I  think  I  may  trust  you  not  to  get  into 
extravagant  habits." 

"  How  could  I  be  extravagant  if  I  wished  it  ?  "  asked 
John. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  you,  John." 

"  I'm  not  afraid  either,"  said  he. 

It  is  certain  John  was  not  afraid,  and  it  is  equally 
certain  that  his  expenses  at  his  outset  ha  life  were  ex- 
tremely modest,  and  that  if  he  had  any  wishes  beyond 
them,  he  kept  them  in  curb.  Was  it  not  his  intention  to 
make  money  ?  only  all  his  intentions  were  young  and 
very  loose  in  the  fibre,  and,  nothing  preventing,  those 
would  flourish  best  that  were  indigenous. 

The  Quixstar  lads  naturally  met  occasionally,  es- 
pecially Tom  Sinclair  and  John,  although  they  had  not 
much  in  common;  but  their  sisters  were  a  bond  between 
them,  and  the  intimacy  was  encouraged  on  both  sides 
at  home — not  that  Mrs.  Gilbert  admired  Tom  deeply,  or 
that  Mrs.  Sinclair  considered  John  of  sufficient  mark  to 
make  his  friendship  of  the  least  consequence  to  Tom, 
but  each  felt  that  her  son  might  have  a  worse  companion. 


150  QUIXSTAR. 

John's  first  essay  at  hospitality  was  on  Tom's  behalf. 
Mrs.  Auld,  John's  landlady,  was  a  just  woman,  but  not 
genial — not  by  any  means  genial.  She  felt  that  John  had 
in  a  manner  been  committed  to  her  care,  and  she  cared 
for  him  conscientiously ;  and  he,  having  been  accustomed 
to  authority,  endured  it  for  a  time,  till  getting  more  fully 
fledged,  he  took  to  flight. 

On  principle,  Mrs.  Auld  objected  to  him  having 
company,  and,  generally  speaking,  when  a  woman  has  it 
in  her  power,  if  she  does  not  make  her  sentiments  heard, 
she  makes  them  felt. 

When  John  saw  his  tea  table,  he  felt  it  was  not  by 
any  means  furnished  as  he  would  have  liked  it  to  be  for 
his  guest.  He  lifted  a  small  vessel  about  the  size  of  a 
humming-bird,  which  his  landlady  called  a  cream-pot, 
and  tasted  the  contents.  When  Mrs.  Auld  came  in,  he 
said — 

"  Couldn't  you  give  us  a  little  better  cream  ?  That 
does  not  seem  just  the  thing." 

"  No'  the  thing  !  What  ails  it  ?  "  and  she  brought 
her  nose  swoop  down  like  a  hawk  on  the  humming-bird. 
"  Weel,  it  may  be  a  wee  thing  turned.  What's  the 
callant's  folk  when  he's  at  hame  ?  " 

"  His  uncle  lives  in  Quixstar.  He  is  a  retired  to- 
bacconist." 

"  A  retired  tobacconist !  The  milk'll  do.  I'll  war- 
rant he's  used  to  naething  better." 

"  I  can  tell  you  he  is  used  to  the  very  best  of  every- 
thing." 

"  Then  it'll  be  a  gude  change  to  him  no'  to  get  the 
best.  Changes  are  lightsome." 

This  might  be  true,  and  it  was  true  that  Mrs.  Auld 
was  a  good,  honest  woman,  trusted  by  Mrs.  Gilbert,  but 
it  was  not  likely  that  a  youth  getting  daily  more 


QUIXSTAR.  ];")! 

in  the  ways  of  the  world  was  going  to  stay  with  her 
longer  than  he  could  help — he,  a  young  man  rejoicing 
in  a  cane  and  a  ring,  which  last  article  of  luxury  he 
transferred  to  his  pocket  from  Saturday  to  Monday,  the 
homage  which  his  youthful  vanity  paid  to  good  sense. 
His  example  commended  itself  to  Tom  Sinclair,  who, 
although  slow  and  fond  of  his  ease,  gratified  his  mother 
by  careful  attention  to  his  toilet. 

In  the  matter  of  changing  his  lodgings,  John  went 
mildly  to  work.  If  he  had  said  to  his  mother  that  he 
wished  to  do  so,  the  likelihood  is  she  would  have  made 
no  objection,  but  he  began  by  dropping  hints  at  a  dis- 
tance, that  he  was  not  quite  comfortable,  and  so  on,  lead- 
ing the  way  gradually. 

Then  he  amused  himself  of  an  evening  writing  such 
an  epistle  as  this,  in  a  scrapy  feminine  hand :  "  SIR, — In 
answer  to  your  advertisement,  I  am  a  widow  without 
family,  but  with  an  airy  bedroom  and  well-furnished 
sitting-room  ;  would  be  happy  to  let  the  same,  with  coals, 
gas,  and  attendance.  Rent  5s.  per  week  inclusive. 
Entry  immediate.  Early  answer  will  oblige."  This  he 
would  stick  into  a  book  as  a  mark,  perfectly  certain  that 
his  landlady  would  not  fail  to  read  it — to  how  many 
landladies  are  the  Avritten  documents  of  their  inmates 
sacred  ?  Mrs.  Auld  read,  and  burned  with  indignation. 
It  never  entered  her  mind  that  she  was  being  played 
upon,  and  she  was  between  the  horns  of  a  dilemma: 
either  she  must  take  no  notice,  or  she  must  stand  con- 
victed of  having  read  the  note.  John  arrives  to  see  the 
success  of  his  stratagem.  He  instantly  knows  that  it 
has  taken  effect. 

"  I  hope  nothing  is  annoying  you,  Mrs.  Auld  ? "  he 
remarks  in  mild  tones. 

"  What  mak's  ye  ask  that  ?  "  says  Mrs.  A.  snappishly. 


152  QUIXSTAR. 

"  I  thought  you  looked  a  little  as  if  yon  were." 

"  Weel,  I  havena  lived  till  this  time  o'  day  to  be  an- 
noyed wi'  trifles." 

"  A  trifle  !     Is  it  anything  I  could  put  right  ?  " 

"  Ye  didna  leave  that  letter  there  for  me  to  read  ?  " 
says  Mrs.  Auld,  unable  to  contain  herself  longer. 

"  What  letter  ?  "  says  John  innocently. 

"  I  read  it.  I  mak'  it  a  duty  to  read  onything  that's 
lying  aboot,  as  your  mother  gied  me  a  charge  o'  ye.  I 
took  ye  mainly  to  oblige  her,  and  ye're  free  to  leave 
when  ye  like ;  but  tak'  my  word  for  it,"  pointing  to  the 
note,  "  that  woman'll  mak'  her  rent  oot  o'  ye  in  some 
shape." 

Mrs.  Auld  withdrew,  shutting  the  door  with  a  bang, 
not  having  her  feelings  soothed  by  hearing  her  lodger 
burst  into  hearty  laughter.  John  was  not  long  in  getting 
out  from  under  Mrs.  Auld's  watchful  care.  And  the 
boys  continued  their  weekly  visit  to  Quixstar  till  Time 
stole  them  away,  and  quietly  and  effectually  put  men  in 
their  place. 

In  these  years  Peter  Veitch  had  only  been  homo  once, 
and  then  his  visit  had  been  limited  to  a  day  and  n.  night, 
and  the  only  person  he  saw  out  of  his  own  family  was 
Mr.  Kennedy,  whom  he  met  on  the  street  and  accosted. 
Mr.  Kennedy  looked  at  him,  and  did  not  know  him.  Peter 
introduced  himself. 

"  Oh,"  said  Mr.  Kennedy ;  "  I  see ;  and  you've  tired 
of  the  sea,  and  have  come  back  to  take  up  the  spade  and 
the  hoe  again  ?  All  right." 

"  I  have  not  tired  of  the  sea,  I  am  going  back  to- 
morrow." 

"  Indeed  ?  Ah,  well,  see  and  behave  yourself, "  and 
Mr.  Kennedy  shook  hands — he  was  rather  in  a  hurry. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Time  stole  the  boys,  he  took  the  girls  too, 
not  however  before  a  snatch  had  been  made  at  them 
from  a  most  unlikely  quarter.  The  Gilbert  girls  had 
been  singularly  pretty  in  the  bud,  so  as  to  alarm  their 
mamma  for  their  future  fate,  but  the  flower  did  not  by 
any  means  come  up  to  the  promise  of  the  bud,  which 
shows  that  people  ought  not  to  eat  sorrow  with  a  long 
spoon.  However,  they  were  well  enough — better  than 
the  average;  but  John's  good  looks  had  gone  on  im- 
proving with  the  years.  Scripture  writers  tell  us  of 
people  who  were  well-favored  and  goodly  to  look  upon, 
as  if  it  were  rather  an  advantage  than  otherwise,  and 
there  were  persons  in  Quixstar  and  elsewhere  whose 
eyes  rested  with  great  enjoyment  on  John  Gilbert, — his 
father  and  mother,  his  grandaunt,  and  even  Miss  Raeburn 
was  weak  enough  to  come  under  the  spell ;  and  younger 
eyes  than  theirs  were  fascinated.  Mr.  Gilbert  felt  that 
John  was  the  ladder  by  which  the  family  was  to  rise  to 
fortune,  and  his  mother — well,  she  did  not  think  less  of 
her  daughters,  but  she  thought  much  of  her  son. 

At  this  particular  time,  however,  there  was  a  pair  of 
weak  spectacled  eyes  that  never  saw  John  Gilbert  with- 
out the  sharpest  pang  of  envy.  What  had  befallen 
Mr.  Doubleday  ?  There  were  times  when  he  would 
have  given  his  right  hand,  nay,  I  verily  believe  his  hope 
of  salvation,  if  onlv  his  soul  could  have  been  clad  in  snoh 


154  QUIXSTAR. 

a  body  as  John  Gilbert's.  Mr.  Doubleday  was  still  at 
Old  Battle  House. 

"He  was  harmless  and  inoffensive,"  Mrs.  Sinclair 
said,  "  and  as  the  girls  objected  point-blank  to  being  sent 
to  a  boarding-school,  and  got  on  well  enough  with  him, 
she  would  rather  have  him  than  a  governess — indeed, 
she  would  not  have  a  governess  on  any  consideration. 
Besides,  there  was  Mr.  Sinclair  in  the  house,  and  you 
never  could  tell  what  might  happen,  and  they  had  all 
got  accustomed  to  Mr.  Doubleday,  odd  being  as  he  was— 
singularly  harmless  ;  but  he  was  not  quite  a  fixture,  he 
would  have  to  leave  some  day,"  etc.,  etc. 

It  was  Maddy  Fairgrieve  who  first  discovered  the 
impending  calamity.  One  morning  she  went  into  the 
schoolroom  to  finish  her  dusting.  She  had  a  light  foot ; 
and  Mr.  Doubleday,  who  was  standing  in  one  of  the  win- 
dows, did  not  hear  her.  He  was  holding  a  glove  in  his 
hand,  and  he  kissed  it  repeatedly.  Turning  round,  he 
became  aware  of  Maddy's  presence,  and  not  being  quick- 
witted, he  looked  caught,  and  hid  the  glove  in  his  pocket. 
At  this  instant  Bell  came  in,  and  spied  one  of  her  gloves. 

"  Did  I  leave  my  gloves  last  night  ? "  said  she. 
"  Here's  one — where's  the  other  ? — Maddy,  did  you  see 
it  lying  about  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Maddy ;  "  I  didna  see  it  lying  about " — 
which  was  the  truth. 

"  It  must  be  somewhere,  though,"  said  Bell,  and  she 
proceeded  to  hunt  for  it. 

No  doubt  Mr.  Doubleday  felt  as  if  he  had  been 
guilty  of  theft,  and  he  slowly  drew  the  glove  out  of  his 
pocket. 

"  There  it  is,"  he  said  simply. 

"  Out  of  your  pocket  !  Did  you  mistake  it  for  your 
own  ?  The  last  instance  of  absence  of  mind ! "  said  Bell, 


QUIXSTAK.  155 

her  face  as  clear  as  day.     It  was  evident  the  tutor  had 
never  told  his  love. 

Maddy  retreated  to  her  own  quarters,  and  laughed. 
"  He's  no  blate,"  she  thought.  "  Aside  Bell  he  looks 
'like  naething  but  a  skinned  rabbit.  Wait  till  her 
mamma  finds  it  out,  and  it  will  be  a  business  !  And  the 
woman  that  writes  to  him  so  often — I'll  warrant  she 
has  him  tied  neck  and  heels.  It's  aye  the  way  wi'  stu- 
dent callants ;  they  entangle  themselves  before  they've 
had  time  to  draw  their  wits  up  frae  their  heels.  But 
I  dinna  think  Bell'll  interfere  wi'  her  rights.  I  wonder 
if  he  kens  what  like  he  is !  "  and  Maddy  laughed  again, 
judging,  as  women  are  apt  to  do,  and  men  also,  by  mere 
externals,  and  feeling  herself  certain  that  Mr.  Double- 
day  was  making  a  terrible  breach  in  his  honor  by  re- 
pudiating a  prior  claim. 

Bell  was  neai'ly  a  grown-up  young  lady,  and  no  doubt 
there  were  people  who  described  her  as  bold  and  bounc- 
ing. If  an  angel  were  to  descend,  some  one  would  find 
fault  with  the  poise  of  his  wings,  and  discover  that  he 
was  either  over  fluent  or  over  reticent.  Bell  was  large 
— not  too  large — and  bold  with  the  boldness  of  a  free, 
well-set  nature,  that  thinks  no  evil.  It  was  a  pleasure  to 
watch  her  eyes,  or  to  meet  them.  They  were  not  of  that- 
blue  which  is  reckoned  so  soft  and  womanly ;  nor  that 
black  which  glitters  and  scintillates  so  beautifully  by  mere 
force  of  the  coloring  pigment — for  as  often  as  not  they 
are  like  the  sham  drawers  in  a  druggist's  shop,  apparently 
full  of  wares  subtle  for  life  or  death,  but  having  actually 
nothing  behind  the  appearance.  Bell's  eyes  were  grey, 
that  clear  calm  grey,  at  which  to  look  merely  gives  you 
a  feeling  of  rest  when  they  are  at  rest,  but  that  kindle 
at  the  least  friction  of  heart  or  soul,  like  a  lucifer-match 
drawn  across  a  rough  surface.  Her  nose  was  straight, 


156  QUIXSTAR. 

good,  and  unobtrusive ;  she  had  a  clean-cut  mouth,  which 
opened  well,  and  showed  a  row  of  teeth — not  small,  to 
be  sure,  perhaps  a  little  too  big  for  beauty — but  white 
and  regular  as  no  dentist  could  make  them,  and  giving 
the  impression  of  high  health  and  strength  without  a 
particle  of  coarseness;  she  had  a  good  forehead,  as 
became  a  mathematical  student,  with  fair  hair  and  plenty 
of  it. 

Alas  !  that  beside  her  Mr.  Doubleday  justified  Mad- 
dy's  comparison  is  too  true.  Exit  he  had  fallen  in  love. 
Love,  you  see,  can  kindle  his  torch  in  a  turnip  lantern  as 
well  as  in  a  silver  sconce,  and  even  spectrum  analysis 
would  reveal  the  combustible  material  to  be  very  much 
alike  in  both  cases.  Think  of  Mr.  Doubleday  in  this  state 
of  incandescence.  How  he  would  have  manifested  his 
feelings  if  he  had  never  learned  the  ABC  cannot  be 
known,  but  it  is  not  very  likely  it  would  have  occurred 
to  him  to  kiss  a  glove  and  put  it  in  his  pocket  if  he  had 
never  read  of  such  a  thing  being  done,  although  love 
does  a  good  deal  in  the  way  of  inspiration. 

What  was  pretty  well  known  to  him,-having  lived 
so  long  under  the  same  roof  with  Mrs.  Sinclair — even 
to  him,  innocent  of  anything  like  keen  worldly  wisdom 
as  he  was — was  the  likelihood  that  she  would  not 
smile  on  his  wishes  in  the  matter  of  her  daughter, 
and  he  was  in  a  strait  between  two,  whether  to  ask 
Mrs.  Sinclair  for  her  permission  to  win  his  love,  or  to 
woo  without  it.  Mr.  Doubleday  never  hated  any  one, 
jt  was  not  in  him  to  do  so,  but  he  had  a  conscious 
overallish  feeling  toward  Mrs.  Sinclair  which  made  him 
always  more  comfortable  in  her  absence  than  her  pres- 
ence, and  it  is  a  very  difficult  matter  to  go  and  lay 
open  your  deepest  feelings  to  a  person  for  whom  you 
have  no  more  regard  than  this  ;  and  as  it  is  easiest,  when 


QtJIXSTAR.  157 

you  are  perplexed  but  not  pushed,  to  do  nothing,  Mr. 
Doubleday  would  probably  never  have  thought  of  doing 
anything,  had  not  cruel  fate  kept  the  wound  of  love  open 
by  laying  the  blister  of  jealousy  over  it.  John  Gilbert 
came  often  to  Old  Battle  House.  John  Gilbert  was  good- 
looking  and  clever.  Mr.  Doubleday  did  not  think  hum- 
bly of  himself ;  he  was  conscious  of  powers  of  some  kind, 
but  he  knew  he  had  neither  the  clear  sight  nor  the  agility 
which  springs  to  opportunity,  and  till  now  he  had  never 
felt  the  want.  Often  as  he  had  heard  Mrs.  Sinclair  dis- 
course to  her  son  with  the  view  of  stinging  him  to  ex- 
ertion, on  the  number  of  clever  people  in  the  world  who 
never  got  any  benefit  from  their  cleverness  because  they 
did  not  know  how  to  use  it,  could  not  dress  it  for  the 
market,  and  by  the  pricking  of  his  thumbs  had  known 
that  while  Mrs.  Sinclair  was  seeking  to  rouse  her  son, 
she  was  also  speaking  at  him,  he  had  never  winced. 
What  could  such  a  woman  know  of  the  bliss  of  pursuing 
knowledge  for  the  sake  of  knowledge  ?  When  he  had 
hinted  at  such  an  idea  she  hooted  it.  "  That's  all  very 
well,  Mr.  Doubleday,"  she  said,  "  but  if  you  carry  out 
that  notion  you'll  crawl  through  the  world  a  poor  man." 

"  I  don't  object  to  crawling  through  the  world  a 
poor  man." 

"  Very  well,  you'll  get  no  respect." 

"  I  can  do  without  respect." 

"  Oh,  if  you  come  to  that,  you  are  independent,  to 
be  sure." 

" No,  ma'am,  I'm  not  so  independent;  next  to  my 
own  approval,  I  value  that  of  a  good  man." 

"  And  you  think  a  good  man  will  approve  of  lazi- 
ness." 

"  You  said  poverty ;  you  did  not  say  laziness." 

"  Well,  people  are  poor  because  they  are  lazy." 


158  QUIXSTAR. 

"  If  that  is  your  conviction,  ma'am,  I'll  not  dis- 
turb it." 

What  was  he  to  do  ?  He  could  still  forget  himself 
in  his  books — his  first  love — but  the  next  lesson  in 
mathematics  came,  and  John  Gilbert  came.  True,  it  was 
a  natural  enough  thing  that  John  Gilbert  should  come, 
he  had  always  come,  he  was  a  friend  of  Tom's,  and 
besides,  there  was  Effie,  — "  But  what,"  thought  Mr. 
Doubleday,  "  what  could  she  possibly  be  in  any  one's 
eyes  compared  with  Bell  ?  " 

Now  many  people  thought  Effie  the  better-looking 
of  the  two.  She  was  less  every  way  than  her  sister,  she 
was  pretty,  did  not  look  into  things  too  high  for  her,  and 
was  not  strong-minded ;  her  mamma  said  she  was  quite 
a  sensitive  plant,  and  always  had  been,  and  John  had 
teased  Effie  from  their  childhood  up. 

Sometimes  Mr.  Doubleday  thought  of  opening  up 
the  matter  to  Mr.  Sinclair.  He  liked  Mr.  Sinclair. 
Mr.  Sinclair  was  his  friend,  and  oftener  than  once  he  had 
tried  to  do  it,  but  failed ;  he  had  led  a  life  so  out  of  the 
crowd  that  he  had  a  womanish  shrinking;  it  seemed  as 
if  it  would  vulgarize  a  sacred  feeling  to  talk  of  it,  so  the 
sweet  and  the  sour  stuff  went  on  burning  together,  no 
one  being  the  wiser  except  Maddy.  It  needed  a  lively 
imagination  to  originate  the  idea  of  Mr.  Doubleday 
being  in  love. 

But,  grievous  to  say,  Maddy  was  not  Mr.  Doubleday's 
friend  in  this  matter.  She  was  a  just  woman,  and  she 
was  indignant  at  the  wrong  done  to  the  tutor's  supposed 
betrothed ;  still,  if  he  had  been  a  fine-looking  youth, 
of  frank  and  genial  bearing,  perhaps  her  sense  of  justice 
might  not  have  been  in  the  ascendant. 

"  But,"  she  thought,  "  I  needna  distress  myseF ;  Bell 
will  never  tak'  up  wi'  the  like  o'  him."  She  sounded 


QUIXSTAR.  159 

affairs,  however,  and  took  an  opportunity  of  bringing 
the  tutor  in  as  a  topic.  "  Would  you  call  Mr.  Double- 
day  gude-looking,  Miss  Sinclair  ?  "  she  said. 

"  No,"  said  Bell,"  I  would  not,  nor  any  other  person." 

"  Puir  man,"  said  Maddy. 

"  Do  you  pity  a  man  because  he  is  not  a  beauty, 
Maddy  ?  " 

l<  No — no'  if  he  has  other  things." 

"  Mr.  Doubleday  has  plenty  of  other  things.  He  is 
good,  and  he  is  learned,  and  he  never  despises  igno- 
rance, but  he  should  not  use  his  hands.  It's  a  very 
funny  thing  that  with  such  a  mind  he  should  not  know 
by  intuition  how  to  fold  paper  and  tie  a  string,  but  it 
actually  puts  me  in  a  fever  to  see  him  try  to  make  up 
a  parcel." 

"  He's  a  stupid  body,"  said  Maddy. 

"  That  he  is  not,"  said  Bell  emphatically.  "  It  is  a 
pity  he  is  so  handless,  but  it  is  not  so  bad  in  a  man  as 
a  woman."  . 

"  I  dinna  ken,"  said  Maddy ;  "  there's  heaps  o'  bits  o' 
jobs  about  a  house  a  man  can  do  if  he  has  hands.  What 
use  would  Mr.  Doubleday  be  at  a  flitting,  think  ye  ?  " 

"None,"  said  Bell,  laughing;  "  I  would  never  engage 
him  to  help  at  a  flitting." 

"  Weel,  I  like  a  smart,  look-active  man  far  afore  a 
dungeon." 

"  Dungeons  are  good  in  their  place.  You  can  draw 
a  great  deal  out  of  a  dungeon.  First  and  last,  I  have 
got  more  good  from  Mr.  Doubleday  than  almost  any 
one."  Bell  stood  up  for  her  tutor  warmly,  but,  even  to 
Maddy's  experienced  eyes,  as  calmly  as  if  she  had  been 
speaking  of  old  Peter  Veitch. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THERE  are  people  who  having  got  a  startling  piece 
of  information  do  not  burn  to  impart  it, — who  having 
made  a  discovery  by  their  own  unaided  wisdom  can  yet 
refrain  from  publishing  it, — thereby  abstaining  from  giv- 
ing a  skeptical  world  triumphant  proof  of  that  wisdom. 
There  are  such  people,  although  they  are  rather  thinly 
sown,  and  you  could  hardly  expect  that  Mrs.  Sinclair's  old 
and  valuable  servant  would  forego  the  pleasure  of  a  mild 
and  respectful  crow  over  her  mistress. 

Some  changes  were  being  made  in  the  household  ar- 
rangements, and  Mrs.  Sinclair  remarked  to  Maddy,  "  We 
could  make  use  of  Mr.  Doubleday's  room  now,  if  we  had 
it.  Hell  have  to  be  leaving  some  day." 

"  It's  high  time,"  said  Maddy,  with  a  mysterious 
snort. 

"  I  should  think  I  am  the  best  judge  of  that,"  said 
Mrs.  Sinclair  loftily. 

"  Maybe ;  but  he's  dune  a'  the  gude  he's  likely  to  do 
here." 

"  He's  not  going  to  do  you  any  harm,  is  he,  Maddy  ?  " 

"  Na ;  there's  nae  fear  o'  me.  I  wadna  tak'  up  wi' 
the  like  o'  him." 

"  Who's  taking  up  with  him  ? — not  Mary  (one  of  the 
servants)  ?  But  Mr.  Doubleday  has  more  sense.  You 
imagine  things,  Maddy." 

"  Maybe.  When  Miss  Bell  runs  off  wi'  the  tutor 
I'll  maybe  imagine  that  too." 


QUIXSTAR.  161 

"  Really,  Maddy,  you  should  think  twice  before  you 
speak.  You're  an  old  servant,  but  there  is  a  limit  to 
freedom." 

Maddy  snorted,  and  held  her  tongue.  Mrs.  Sinclair, 
however,  had  intended  the  remark  to  draw  out  all  she 
might  have  to  say,  and  her  sudden  and  complete  silence 
was  provoking. 

"  There  is  a  limit  to  freedom,  and  therefore,  Maddy, 
I  can't  think  a  person  of  your  sense  would  have  said 
what  you  did  say  without  grounds,"  Mrs.  Sinclair  said, 
sure  that  a  seasoning  of  compliment  would  untie  the 
budget ;  but  Maddy  was  disposed  to  play  her  fish  a  little 
longer  on  the  hook. 

"  Oh,  nae  grounds  but  my  ain  imagination,"  said 
Maddy. 

"  Maddy,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair,  looking  from  the  win- 
dow at  the  garden,  on  which  the  sun  was  shining,  ;'  why 
should  we  indulge  in  bad  temper  when  all  nature  is 
smiling  ?  " 

"  I  dinna  ken  your  reason,  but  I  imagine  I  do  it  out 
o'  a  spirit  o'  contradiction." 

"  It  is  a  very  bad  spirit." 

"Very." 

"And  one  you  ought  to  guard  against,  as  well  as 
setting  reports  afloat  that  have  no  foundation." 

"  I  never  did  that." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  have  the  slightest 
ground  for  saying  what  you  said  a  little  ago  ?  " 

<;  Yes,"  said  Maddy  shortly. 

"  Then  what  are  they  ?  As  a  mother  I  have  a  right  to 
know.  What  can  they  possibly  be  ?  " 

Then  Maddy  thawed,  and  unfolded  the  glove  scene 
and  other  tell-tale  trifles. 

Most  people,  who  had  been  as  long  in  the  world  as 


162  QUIXSTAR. 

Mrs.  Sinclair,  would  have  slept  on  information  such  as 
this  before  taking  action  on  it.  Mrs.  Sinclair  went 
immediately  in  search  of  the  tutor.  She  looked  into  the 
dining-room,  and  found  not  him,  but  Miss  Raeburn  and 
Mr.  Sinclair,  they  having  come  in  from  the  garden  as 
she  descended  the  stairs.  She  scarcely  had  presence  of 
mind  for  the  ordinary  greeting.  "  I'm  looking  for  Mr. 
Doubleday,"  she  said;  "I  thought  after  I  got.  him 
polished  a  little  he  would  be  as  harmless  in  the  house 
as  the  cat ;  and  what  do  you  think  I  have  just  heard  of 
him?" 

"  That  he  is  in  love  with  Bell  ?  "  said  Miss  Raeburn. 

"  Miss  Raeburn  !  is  it  possible  that  you  knew  of — 
guessed  of — such  a  thing,  and  never  told  me  ?  I  avoided 
getting  a  governess  in  case — in  case,"  here  she  glanced 
at  Mr.  Sinclair,  "  anything  ridiculous  should  happen  ;  and 
now  why,  oh  why,  did  you  not  give  me  warning  ?  " 

"  I  am  innocent,"  said  Miss  Raeburn.  "  I  made  a 
mere  random  guess.  Even  jealousy  did  not  sharpen  my 
eight.  I  have  seen  nothing,  although  I'm  in  love  with 
Bell  myself." 

"I'll  give  you  Maddy's  story,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

When  she  had  finished,  her  brother-in-law  spoke 
first,  and  said,  "  It  is  nonsense.  Doubleday  is  not  such 
a  sentimental  fool.  He  looked  closely  at  the  glove  to 
see  if  it  was  his  own,  and  thinking  it  his  own  put  it  in 
his  pocket — that  is  all." 

"  If  I  could  think  that  was  all,  what  a  relief  it  would 
be  !  What  do  you  think,  Miss  Raeburn  ?  " 

Being  feminine  and  romantic,  Miss  Raeburn  leaned 
to  Maddy's  view  of  the  subject.  "  I  suppose  if  it  were 
the  case,  you  wouldn't  approve  of  such  an  attachment  ?  " 
said  she. 

"  Miss  Raeburn,  are  you  mad  ?      Well,  it  is  easy  to 


QUIXSTAK.  163 

bear  other  people's  calamities.  I  must  question  Mr. 
Doubleday  or  Bell,  or  both.  What  do  you  think, 
Adam  ?  " 

"  Oh,  by  all  means  question  them.  If  Bell  wants  to 
marry  the  man,  let  her  do  it ;  she  might  do  worse." 

"  I'll  not  let  her  do  it ;  I  at  least  will  stand  between 
my  children  and  ruin." 

"Well,  I  know  nothing  about  these  things.  Take 
your  own  way ;  but  he  is  a  good  man  and  a  scholar ;  and 
there's  no  accounting  for  taste  " — and  having  given  his 
opinion,  Mr.  Sinclair  left  the  two  ladies  to  manage  such 
a  delicate  matter  their  own  way. 

"  I  declare  to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair  solemnly,  "  I 
declare  to  you,  Miss  Raeburn,  I  would  rather  that  Bell 
should  live  and  die  an  old  maid  than  marry  Mr.  Double- 
day," — then,  catching  a  sparkle  in  Miss  Raeburn's  eye 
— "  Of  course  you  know  I  didn't  mean — that  is — old 
maids  are  often  very  tfseful,  and  I  did  not  mean — " 

"  I  know  you  didn't,  Mrs.  Sinclair ;  and  I  have  not 
got  a  long  nose.  But  if  I  were  you,  I  would  not 
question  Bell  on  this  subject.  Most  likely  she  knows 
nothing  about  it,  and  there's  no  need  that  she  should 
know  it." 

"  And  there's  no  need  that  she  shouldn't." 

"She  is  very  young,"  urged  Miss  Raeburn. 

"  Old-maidish  caution,"  thought  Mrs.  Sinclair ;  and 
she  said — "  Perhaps  the  best  thing  would  be  to  send 
away  Mr.  Doubleday  immediately,  without  asking  any- 
thing about  it  ?  " 

"  But  where  could  he  go  to  immediately  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  man  can  never  be  at  a  loss.  One  could  hardly 
have  turned  a  governess  out  at  a  moment's  notice ;  but  a 
man  is  different." 

"  Yes  ;  but  Mr.  Doubleday  has  not  the  faculty  of  look- 


164  QUIXSTAR. 

ing  after  himself  most  men  have,  and  I  doubt  he  has  no 
money." 

"If  he  had  the  impudence  to  think  of  Bell,  he  is  able 
to  look  after  himself;  and  he  must  have  money.  He  has 
been  well  paid  here,  and  what  has  he  done  with  it  ?  " 

"  Given  it  away.  I  suspect  there  is  some  drain  upou 
him." 

"  "Well,  I  am  not  bound  to  supply  his  drains.  You 
don't  see  the  thing  as  I  do.  Did  you  ever  know  such 
impudence  ?  The  more  I  think  of  it — " 

"  The  cat  may  look  at  the  king,  you  know ;  and  a 
man  of  education  and  ability  is  any  one's  equal.  You 
can't  expect  people  to  grovel  in  humility.  But  I  don't 
believe  Bell  cares  for  him  more  than  I  do — at  least  it  is 
very  unlikely ;  yet  if  she  did,  he  would  be  a  good  hus- 
band." 

"I  thought  Adam  unfeeling,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair; 
"  and  I  can  only  say,  Miss  Raeburn,  that  you  can't  know 
a  mother's  feelings—" 

"  Perhaps  I  can't ;  but  I  think  you  should  give  Mr. 
Doubleday  a  little  while's  grace — people  never  regret 
doing  anything  in  a  kindly  way.  Reverse  the  case,  and 
suppose  he  had  been  your  son." 

"  I  don't  think,  Miss  Raeburn,  that  I  am  in  the  habit  of 
doing  unkind  things ;  but  when  one's  child  is  threatened, 
really  I  must  take  my  own  way." 

Mrs.  Sinclair  took  her  own  way,  and  cited  Mr. 
Doubleday  to  her  presence. 

"  Mr.  Doubleday,"  she  said,  "  possibly  it  may  come 
upon  you  by  surprise:  the  intimation  that  owing  to 
circumstances  over  which  I  have  had  no  control,  I  must 
from  to-day  dispense  with  your  services." 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  leaving  for  some  time ;  I 
have  wished  to  leave." 


QUIXSTAR.  165 

"  I  am  glad  of  that, — that  we  are  of  one  mind  on  that 
point." 

"  I  have  thought,  Mrs.  Sinclair,  that  I  might  better 
my  position — " 

"  And  I'm  sure  I  don't  object  to  your  doing  that — 
not  at  all." 

"  I'm  not  ambitious ;  but — " 

"  But  you  ought  to  be.  I  for  one  would  be  delighted 
to  see  you  in  a  Professor's  chair." 

"  Would  that  content  you  ?  "  he  said  eagerly. 

"  Perfectly,  Mr.  Doubleday." 

Mr.  Doubleday  for  once  in  his  life  jumped  to  a  con- 
clusion. 

"  Then  I  may  speak  to  Bell  ?  "  he  said  in  agitation. 

"  About  what  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

Mr.  Doubleday's  fingers  were  playiug  nervously 
with  one  of  the  buttons  of  his  coat,  and  he  stammered, 
"  I  am — she  is — that  is — " 

"  You  don't  mean  that  you  have  been  guilty  of  any 
imprudence,  Mr.  Doubleday  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Sinclair  sharp- 
ly. "  I  have  been  hearing — " 

"  I  never  told  any  one ! "  broke  forth  Mr.  Doubleday. 

"  That's  so  far  good,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair.  "  I  don't 
think  I  can  blame,  myself  for  want  of  vigilance.  If  I 
had  taken  a  fluent  good-looking  youth  into  my  house,  it 
would  have  been  different ;  indeed,  I  would  not  have 
done  it;  but  with  you  I  never  dreamt  of  danger.  I 
wouldn't  for  the  world  do  an  unkindly  thing,  but  in  the 
circumstances  when  will  it  be  convenient  for  you  to  go, 
Mr.  Doubleday?" 

"  To-day ! "  said  Mr.  Doubleday,  suddenly  and  short- 
ly, and  he  left  Mrs.  Sinclair  seated  on  her  throne  of 
judgment,  angry,  vexed,  and  good-natured.  How  sur- 
prised she  would  have  been  had  she  known  that  the  tutor 


166  QUIXSTAR. 

cut  the  interview  short  from  an  instinctive  feeling  of  re- 
pulsion ! " 

He  went  to  the  schoolroom  to  gather  together  the 
books  that  belonged  to  him  lying  there.  Bell  was  sit- 
ting at  the  table  writing.  He  did  not  speak,  and  she 
did  not  speak.  At  length  she  looked  up  and  said — 
.  "  You're  making  a  clean  sweep.  What  are  you  go- 
ing to  do  with  all  these  books  ?  and  what's  the  hurry  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  away  to-night,  and  I'll  take  them  with 
me.1' 

"  Going  to-night !  but  you're  coming  back  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Going  for  good  and  all  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"Nonsense!  I  don't  believe  it.  You  would  have 
given  us  warning." 

"  I  did  not  know  I  was  going  till  a  few  minutes  ago. 
Your  mamma  asked  me  to  go." 

"  She  asked  you  to  go  ? "  said  Bell  in  surprise. 
"  Why  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  she  thought  me  so  ugly  and  so  sunk  in 
my  books  that  I  had  not  common  feeling." 

"  Mr.  Doubleday,  what  in  the  world  has  happened  ? 
I  am  sure  you  misunderstand  mamma  ! " 

"  I  am  not  so  wretchedly  dull !  "  he  said  bitterly. 

"  Neither  is  mamma  so  unjust  and  unkind.  What  is 
the  meaning  of  it  ?  Why  does  mamma  want  you  to 
go?" 

"  She  is  afraid  that  you  should  learn  to  like  me." 

"  That's  not  the  thing.  She  knows  well  enough  that 
we  like  you ;  we've  liked  you  all  along,  so  that  canrt  be 
the  reason,"  and  she  looked  inquiringly  at  him. 

"  She  is  afraid,"  said  he,  turning  over  his  books  ner- 
vously, "  that — that  I  like — love  you  too  well." 


QtJIXSTAR.  167 

"  I  see  it ! "  cried  Bell,  with  animation.  "  I  was  half 
thinking  of  that.  Mamma  is  afraid  that  we'll  want  to 
marry !  No  danger !  That's  an  idea  that  runs  in  mamma's 
head.  The  farthest  back  thing  I  remember  is  her  saying 
she  was  afraid  uncle  would  marry,  and  he's  not  married 
yet.  Don't  take  offence  at  mamma,  Mr.  Doubleday;  I 
can  put  her  right  about  that  in  half  a  second.  Marry  ! 
we  would  never  tMnk  of  it  for  a  moment  f " 

"  Would  you  not — would  you  really  not,  Bell  ?  not 
if  I  were,  as  your  mamma  suggested,  a  Professor  ?  " 

"  If  I  were  going  to  marry,  it  would  be  the  man  I 
should  think  of,  not  his  business.  I  would  not  mind 
much  what  his  business  was  if  it  was  something  clean ; 
not  a  chimney-sweep,  for  instance." 

Mr.  Doubleday  laughed  in  spite  of  himself,  "  I  must 
go,"  he  thought.  "  It  will  be  easier  to  go  at  once.  Her 
mind  awoke  at  my  touch — I  cannot  reach  her  heart." 

"  I  shall  soon  be  forgotten,"  he  said  aloud. 

"  Not  by  me,"  said  she.  "  I  shall  never  open  a  dic- 
tionary without  thinking  of  you,  and  when  you're  away, 
where  can  we  go  but  to  the  dictionary,  and  it  will  be  a 
bore.  I'm  lazy,  and  I  like  spoon-meat.  But  you  won't 
really  go  to-night  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  may  as  well  go  to-night  as  to-morrow." 

"  Well,  said  she,  "  I  have  often  thought  you  were 
losing  time  with  us  when  you  might  have  been  doing 
something  much  more  important  in  the  world ;  but  it 
was  pleasant.  I  shall  always  look  back  on  these  years." 

"  Will  you  ?     And  if  we  should  meet  again — " 

"If?  there's  no  if  in  the  matter ;  you  will  surely  come 
back  and  see  us  now  and  then ;  if  you  are  near,  you 
might  come  every  Saturday,  like  Tom." 

Mr.  Doubleday  smiled  faintly  and  shook  his  head. 
He  bade  the  girls  good-bye  in  the  schoolroom,  and  there 


168  QUIXSTAR. 

was  no  word  said  but  good-bye.  Mrs.  Sinclair  met  him 
in  the  lobby.  "  Now,"  she  said,  "  Mr.  Doubleday,  if 
ever  I  can  do  anything  for  you,  you  have  only  to  let  me 
know.  And  I  would  like  to  give  you  two  pieces  of  ad- 
vice :  cultivate  ambition,  and,  Mr.  Doubleday,  act  hon- 
orably to  the — the  person  to  whom  you  are  engaged." 

"  To  whom  I  am  engaged  ? "  said  Mr.  Doubleday, 
mystified. 

"  Yes.  I  have  been  told  you  are  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried." 

"  Whoever  told  you  that  told  you  what  is  false, 
ma'am.  Good-bye." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

MK.  DOUBLEDAY  walked  on — walked  out  of  his  par- 
adise ;  took  his  solitary  way,  no  more  intending  or  even 
wishing  to  go  back  than  if  an  angel  with  a  drawn  sword 
guarded  the  entrance.  It  seemed  to  him  the  natural 
course  of  things.  He  had  been  so  accustomed  to  be  dis- 
appointed that  the  prosperity  of  his  wishes  would  have 
dazzled  him  as  the  sun  dazzles  weak  eyes.  Besides,  he 
carried  his  love  with  him  as  one  carries  a  jewel  in  a  case, 
and  however  often  he  might  take  her  out  and  look  at 
her  she  would  still  be  the  same — the  scholar  in  whom 
he  had  had  supreme  delight,  her  face  always  alive  with 
interest  and  fresh  with  youth.  He  walked  on,  strange 
to  say,  with  a  sense  of  elation.  For  months  he  had  felt 
as  if  he  had  been  living  in  deceit,  in  a  false,  feverish 
dream  ;  now  he  was  awake  and  free.  Hope  had  not 
hung  in  the  air  when  he  was  born,  as  genius  is  said  to 
do  at  certain  times  of  a  nation's  life,  waiting  to  enter  a 
favored  newly-made  body ;  he  was  not  buoyant,  and  a 
half  lifeless  hope  dies  more  easily;  he  abhorred  anything 
like  deceit,  now  that  too  was  over.  As  Mrs.  Sinclair 
said,  "  When  all  nature  is  smiling,  why  should  we  in- 
dulge in  bad  temper  ?  "  The  sun  was  shining,  and  send- 
ing a  long  afternoon  shadow  before  him,  which  he  could 
neither  overtake  nor  yet  get  quit  of,  any  more  than  he 
could  all  at  once  get  quit  of  the  shadow  of  his  vanished 
hope.  He  walked  more  quickly  than  was  usual  with 
8 


170  QUIXSTAR. 

him,  but  that  was  because  when  people  are  walking  to  a 
railway  station  they  strike  into  a  business  pace  whether 
they  will  or  not,  rather  than  with  the  view  of  walking 
down  internal  tumults.  He  came  up  to  old  Peter  Veitch 
standing  leaning  over  a  gate  at  the  entrance  of  a  field. 

"  Fine  day,  sir,"  said  Peter. 

"  Very  fine,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday,  and  was  passing 
on,  when  Peter  said,  "  You'll  hae  heard  the  news  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  his  tone  implying  that  he  did  not  care 
to  hear  it,  but  when  Peter  had  got  a  stai'tling  bit  of 
news,  like  many  people  he  was  fond  of  telling  it. 

"  Lord  Winkworth  died  this  morning,"  he  said. 
(This  nobleman  had  some  estates  in  the  county,  and  a 
residence  not  very  far  from  Cranstoun  Hall,  a  favorite 
residence,  where  he  mostly  lived,  and  where  he  had 
died.) 

Mr.  Doubleday  was  not  so  struck  as  Peter  expected ; 
he  said,  "  Indeed,"  somewhat  absently. 

"  Sudden  in  the  end,"  Peter  continued ;  "  he  had 
been  no'  sae  weel,  off  an'  on,  for  a  while.  Eh,  Mr. 
Doubleday,  it's  a  blessing  that  great  folk  dee." 

"  You're  surely  not  pleased  at  the  man's  death, 
Peter  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  sir;  but  when  ye  see  puir  folk  fechting  on 
a'  their  lives,  and  living  in  damp  houses,  wi'  a  wind 
blawing  through  them  fit  to  tak'  onybody  up  the  lum, 
and  getting  the  cauld,  drapping  into  the  ground  like  a 
broken  leaf,  it  looks  hard ;  but  when  the  like  o'  Lord 
Winkworth's  ta'en  away,  that  had  doctors  frae  a'  parts, 
and  everything  done  for  him  that  could  be  done — the 
house  and  the  very  passages,  they  tell  me,  were  heated 
up  to  an  equal  temperature  a'  the  year  round, — it  brings 
things  to  their  level.  When  their  time  comes  the  rich 
maun  gang, "they  canna  creesh  the  hand  o'  death." 


QUIXSTAR.  171 

"  I  envy  him,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday. 

"  He  had  a  gey  and  easy  billet,  ye  wad  think,"  said 
Peter ;  "  but  I'm  no  sure  I  wad  hae  changed  wi'  him. 
To  be  flattered  and  made  o',  and  hae  a'  body  takin'  off 
their  hats  to  ye,  and  hae  your  pouches  fou  o'  siller  frae 
the  cradle  to  the  grave,  is  trying — very  trying;  I'm 
no  sure  how  I  wad  hae  come  out  o'  sic  an  ordeal." 

"  Be  certain  he  had  his  own  share  of  evils,"  said  Mr. 
Doubleday;  "no  man  comes  into  this  world  and  goes 
out  of  it  without  them ;  it's  not  his  life  I  envy,  it's  his 
death." 

"  Are  ye  tired  o'  life,  sir — ye're  young  to  hae  gotten 
that  length  ?  " 

"  There's  not  much  worth  living  for,"  answered  Mr. 
Doubleday  ;  "  and  think  what  he'll  know  now." 

"  Dear  kens — that's  ayont  me.  I  canna  say  I  want  to 
dee — it's  no'  natural ;  but  I've  enjoyed  life  ;  I've  wrought 
hard,  and  had  my  ain  trials ;  but  working  wi'  your  hands 
keeps  body  and  mind  in  order,  if  ye're  no'  ower  sair 
wrought — how  you  folk  that  work  wi'  your  heads- come 
on  I  dinna  ken.  Weel,  I  tak'  a  dook  in  the  burn  every 
morning,  and  that's  ae  thing  worth  living  for,  for  ye're 
just  a  laddie  when  ye  come  out;  and  I  often  get  a  hearty 
laugh  and  that's  anither  thing  worth  living  for ;  but  ye 
dinna  look  in  a  humor  for  that.  Ye  haena  the  tooth- 
ache, have  ye,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,  I  never  had  toothache  in  my  life." 

"  Then  be  thankfu' ;  it's  no'  every  ane  that  can  tell 
the  tale." 

Next  morning  Mr.  Sinclair  looked  over  the  edges  of 
his  paper  at  breakfast,  and  said,  "  Surely  Mr.  Doubleday 
is  late  to-day  ?  " 

"Do  you  not  know?"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair;  "he  is 
away." 


172  QUIXSTAR. 

"  Where  to  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  his  boxes  are  addressed  to  Eastburgh. 
If  you  had  not  been  out  driving,  he  and  they  might  have 
been  sent  to  the  station  together." 

"  You  don't  mean  that  he  is  not  coming  back  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly  I  mean  that." 

"  Impossible  !  you  could  not  turn  him  out  at  a  mo- 
ment's warning  ?  " 

"  He  proposed  going,  and  I  must  say  I  did  not  press 
him  to  stay." 

"  But  I  did,"  said  Bell.  "  I  did  not  want  him  to  go 
in  such  a  hurry ;  we  liked  him,  and  although  we  gave  him 
so  much  trouble,  he  liked  us.  I'm  very  sorry  he  is  gone  ; 
I  feel  like  a  fish  out  of  water." 

"  I  think,  Adam,  you'll  allow  that  my  prompt  action 
was  hardly  misplaced,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair,  with  a  know- 
ing smile. 

"  It's  done  at  any  rate,  and  can't  be  undone,"  said 
Mr.  Sinclair,  and  he  did  not  think  the  more  of  his  sister- 
in-law  for  her  energy,  which  savored  of  heartlessness. 

"  I'm  glad,  for  Mr.  Doubleday's  sake,"  said  Bell.  "  I 
always  felt  he  was  wasting  his  time  here.:> 

"  That's  something  like  sense,  Bell,"  said  her  uncle. 
"  Well,  what  do  Effie  and  you  propose  doing  now  ? 
But  perhaps  your  education  is  finished  ?  " 

"  Except  as  regards  music,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair;  "they 
will  go  on  with  it." 

"  I  know,  uncle,"  said  Bell,  "  that  you  are  laughing  at 
us  about  our  education  being  finished,  and  I  don't  like  it. 
Mr.  Doubleday  once  told  me  that  the  greatest  of  all 
reverence  is  reverence  for  what  is  beneath  you." 

"  And  you  claim  reverence  as  being  beneath  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  good  deal  younger  at  least." 

"That's  undeniable,  I  must  allow." 


QUIXSTAE.  173 

"  But,  Bell,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair,  "  it  was  quite  natural 
of  your  uncle  to  suppose  your  education  finished.  By 
the  time  I  was  your  "age,"  at  this  point  Mr.  Sinclair  re- 
tired with  his  newspaper,  "  I  had  not  only  finished  my 
education,  I  had  refused  more  than  one  oifer  of  marriage, 
and  good  ones  too." 

"  Why,  mamma,"  said  Effie,  "  did  you  refuse  them  ?  " 

"  Because,  my  dear,  I  was  kept  for  your  papa." 

"  But,  mamma,  tell  us  the  particxilars :  I  would  like  to 
hear  them  of  all  things  ?  " 

"Tell  us  about  papa,"  said  Bell.  "What  kind  of 
man  was  he  ?  " 

Bell,  when  she  thought  of  her  father,  always  pictured 
him  to  herself  as  a  man  among  men,  the  fact  being  that  he 
was  nothing  worse  and  nothing  better  than  a  solemn 
goose. 

"  The  most  excellent  of  men,  my  dear." 

"  Was  he  like  uncle  ?  " 

"  No  ;  not  at  all.  What  your  uncle  might  have  been 
if  he  had  early  in  life  married  a  superior  woman  we 
can't  say.  No ;  your  father  was  not  like  him,"  etc. 

Bell,  as  her  uncle  allowed,  showed  sense  occasionally, 
but  her  wisdom  was  not  of  the  kind  that  could  smartly 
discern  a  want  of  that  quality  in  the  opinions  and  acts  of 
her  elders.  It  could  not  enter  her  mind  to  criticise 
her  mother  or  her  uncle.  A  woman  must  be  bad  indeed 
before  she  loses  her  prestige,  and  in  the  eyes  of  her 
children  Mrs.  Sinclair  was  eminently  wise  and  good. 

When  Mr.  Sinclair  had  finished  his  newspaper  he  sat 
for  half  an  hour  or  so  meditating,  and  the  subject  of  his 
meditations  was  his  nieces.  "His  attention  had  been 
called  "  to  them  pointedly  by  the  schoolroom-quake  that 
had  taken  place,  and  he  had  looked  at  them  particularly 
that  morning,  critically  and  disinterestedly,  and  had  dis- 


174  QUIXSTAR. 

covered  that  they  were  grown  up,  and  that  each  in  her 
own  way  looked  well,  but  he  preferred  Bell  upon  the 
larger  pattern.  "  Doubleday  has  taste,"  he  thought,  smil- 
ing, "  if  he  has  not  wisdom."  Mr.  Sinclair  smiled,  so 
that  if  there  was  any  similar  episode  in  his  own  life  the 
probability  is  he  had  come  to  regard  it  from  the  elderly 
point  of  view  as  a  piece  of  romantic  nonsense,  otherwise 
— one  would  think — he  might  have  sighed  in  token  of 
sympathy  for  Mr.  Doubleday,  and  hi  memory  of  his  own 
young  self. 

Then  he  thought,  "  Their  mother  is  not  overgifted 
with  sense,  I'll  have  to  mount  guard ; "  whereupon  he 
called  them  into  his  room, — "  Now,"  he  said,  "  I  know 
you  have  nothing  to  do — " 

"  We  intend—"  said  Erne. 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  intend.  Well,  I  daresay,  but  if  you'll 
come  here  two  hours  every  day  I'll  see  that  you  do  some- 
thing, as  well  as  intend  to  do  it.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we'll  come.     What  are  we  to  do  ?  " 

"  Anything  you  like,  except  trifle. — See,  Eflie,"  and 
he  took  from  a  shelf  Robertson's  History  of  Charles  the 
Fifth,  an  abridged  edition,  "  if  you  would  read  such  a 
book  as  that  you  might  be  the  better  for  it ;  but  I  sup- 
pose you  wouldn't  ?  " 

"  I've  read  it,"  said  Eflie ;  "  ask  me  questions,  and 
you'll  see  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  doubt  you,  and  I'm  glad  you  can  read  a 
book  of  that  class — very  glad." 

Xext  he  examined  Bell  as  to  her  mathematical  ac- 
quirements, and  said,  "  Xot  so  bad ;  well,  you  can  go  now, 
and  come  here  every  morning  at  ten.  I'll  see  that  you 
make  some  use  of  two  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four." 
This  was  all  the  encouragement  Mr.  Sinclair  vouchsafed 
his  nieces. 


QUIXSTAR.  175 

When  Tom  came  home  the  following  Saturday,  he 
said  to  his  sisters,  in  his  usual  laconic  fashion,  "  What's 
the  row  been  ?  " 

"  What  row  ?  "  asked  Effie. 

"  We  met  Doubleday  on  the  street  in  Eastburgh 
yesterday,  and  we  could  not  make  him  out.  He  has  left, 
it  seems,  for  good.  Have  we  tired  of  our  mathematics, 
Bell?" 

"Who  was  with  you  when  you  met  Mr.  Double- 
day  ?"  asked  Effie. 

"Answer  my  question,  and  I'll  answer  yours,"  said 
Tom. 

"Thomas,  my  brother,"  said  Bell;  "ask  first,  was 
there  a  row  ?  " 

"  Doubleday  didn't  leave  at  an  hour's  notice  without 
a  row." 

"  He  left  without  a  row,"  echoed  Bell. 

"  Effie,"  he  said,  "  how  was  it  ?  why  did  he  leave  ? 
You  may  as  well  tell  me.  I'll  get  it  from  mamma  at 
any  rate." 

"  Tom,"  said  Bell,  "  it's  a  long  story.  You  have 
heard  of  cumulative  force  ?  " 

"  I  say,  no  nonsense.  What  was  it,  Effie  ?  " 
Bell  said,  "  Mr.  Doubleday  took  his  shoes  to  the 
mending ;  Mr.  Doubleday  stayed  at  home ;  Mr.  Double- 
day  went  to  the  post  for  a  letter,  and  Mr.  Doubleday 
sometimes  got  none:  cumulative  force — and  mamma 
said  he  had  better  go,  and  he  went." 

"Effie,"  said  Tom,  "can  you  speak  sense?" 

"  I  fancy,"  said  Effie,  "  mamma  and  he  differed  about 
something,  I  don't  know  what,  and  he  went  off  in_a 
hurry;  that's  all  I  know. — Now,  who  was  with  you 
when  you  met  him — John  Gilbert?"  Tom  nodded. 

"  How  was  Mr.  Doubleday  looking  ?  "  asked  Bell. 


176  QUIXSTAK. 

"  Through  his  spectacles,"  said  Tom. 

"  That  is  very  satisfactory,"  rejoined  Bell. 

"  Is  John  coming  over  to-night  ?  "  Effie  asked. 

"  Yes ;  and  his  sisters." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

BELL  seized  an  opportunity  in  the  course  of  the  even- 
ing to  pay  a  hasty  visit  to  Miss  Raeburn. 

"  Miss  Raeburn  is  not  out,  I  hope  ?  "  said  she  to  the 
servant  who  opened  the  door. 

"  No ;  I'm  not  out.  Come  away,  Tibby,"  cried  Miss 
Raeburn  from  her  sitting-room. 

"  I  was  afraid,  from  the  blinds  being  down,  that  you 
were  out." 

"  I  was  reading  a  book  for  which  I  wanted  a  dim 
religious  light,"  said  Miss  Raeburn ;  "  and  also  to  feel 
alone,  which  you  can't  do  so  thoroughly  with  open  win- 
dows." 

"  I  have  interrupted  you,  then  ?  " 

"  If  you  had  not  been  you,  you  would  have  inter- 
rupted me ;  but  being  you — child,  I  could  wish  to  have 
you  for  the  prop  of  my  old  age." 

"  You're  not  old,"  said  Bell. 

"  Just  so  old  that  when  I  go  into  a  druggist's  shop 
for  anything,  I  get  it  wrapped  up  in  a  document  setting 
forth  the  merits  of  an  unguent  warranted  to  make  thin 
hair  grow  thick,  when  all  other  means  have  failed." 

"  But  that's  by  chance,"  said  Bell ;  "  I  don't  believe 
the  common  run  of  shopmen  are  so  clever  as  to  pick 
and  choose  what  will  suit  each  different  customer." 

"  There  are  clever  ones  among  them,  though.  I 
saw  a  circular  the  other  day  from  a  man  who  has  invent- 


178  QUIXSTAR. 

ed  a  specific,  offering  his  portrait— a  first-class  thing, 
he  said,  both  as  a  likeness  and  a  work  of  art — to  every 
shopkeeper  who  would  put  it  in  his  window,  and  sell 
his  specific  with  a  percentage ;  besides,  he  remarked, 
the  portrait  and  the  specific  would  be  the  means  of  in- 
definitely extending  the  exhibitor's  usual  business." 

"  People  must  be  fearfully  fond  of  money,"  said  Bell, 
"  that  act  with  such  consummate  impudence  to  get  it. 
If  that  man  could  sell  impudence  at  so  much  the  ounce,  I 
would  buy  some  of  it  to  give  to  Mr.  Doubleday  as  a 
parting  gift.  He  would  be  much  the  better  of  it.  You 
know  he  has  left  us  ?  " 

"  Perfectly.     Everybody  in  Quixstar  knows." 

"  I  daresay.  It  was  to  speak  about  him  I  came.  I 
haven't  long  to  stay." 

"  Speak  then,  Tibby" — Miss  Raeburn  generally  had  a 
name  for  those  she  specially  liked,  other  than  that  by 
which  they  were  commonly  known. 

';  What  do  you  think  will  become  of  him,  Miss  Rae- 
burn ?  " 

"How?" 

"Do  you  think  hell  be  able  to  look  after  himself ? 
I  always  felt  as  if  he  were  a  creature  that  needed  to  be 
taken  in  and  done  for ;  and  to  think  he  was  sent  off  at  a 
moment's  notice  !  Mamma  won't  hear  reason,  and  I  don't 
like  to  speak  to  uncle  about  it,  so  I  came  to  you." 

"  To  ask  whether  I  thought  he  was  likely  to  sink  or 
swim  ?  I  think  he'll  swim,  or  get  some  strong  swimmer 
to  take  him  in  tow." 

"  I  would  like  to  hear  of  it." 

"  Oh,  he'll  write ;  be  sure  of  that." 

"  Whom  will  he  write  to  ?  " 

"  Your  uncle  or  Mr.  Gilbert,  probably." 

"I  liked  him,  and  he  is  such  a  helpless  being;  posi- 


QUIXSTAE.  179 

tively  he  couldn't  wipe  his  own  spectacles  properly.  I 
used  to  take  them  from  him  and  do  it ;  and  yet  he  wrote 
beautifully,  and  he  is  so  simple.  One  day  he  met  a  knife- 
grinder  on  the  road,  and  got  his  knife  sharpened.  He 
had  no  change,  and  gave  the  man  a  one-pound  note.  The 
man  was  to  get  change  and  bring  it  to  him  at  the  house 
in  the  evening,  not  to  keep  him  waiting.  He  never  saw 
either  man  or  money  again,  at  which  he  wondered,  he 
told  me." 

"  We  must  hope  he  won't  fall  among  thieves,  then," 
said  Miss  Raeburn;  "only,  if  he  should,  he  would  have 
the  happiness  of  not  knowing  it." 

"  I  doubt,"  said  Bell,  and  she  sighed,  "  happiness  and 
he  have  never  had  much  to  do  with  each  other.  I  know 
he  had  an  uncomfortable  home,  although  he  never  exactly 
said  so." 

"  I  hope  we'll  hear  of  him  getting  into  some  con- 
genial post  soon." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  him,"  said  Bell ;  "  but  it  has 
been  a  comfort  to  speak  of  him  to  you." 

"  I  wonder,"  thought  Miss  Raeburn  when  her  visitor 
was  gone,  "  if  she  really  cares  for  him ;  it  would  be  a  piece 
of  amazing  luck  for  him,  and  they  are  complementary  to 
each  other.  Pity  is  akin  to  love,  they  say,  but  is  love  akin 
to  pity  ?  I  trow  not.  Pity  is  the  poor  relation  that  claims 
kindred  with  the  rich ;  love  is  the  rich  relation  that  for- 
gets the  poor ;  love  likes  to  glory  in  its  object,  not  to  pity ; 
it  is  hardly  possible,  but  stranger  things  have  happened." 

Mr.  Doubleday  wrote — wrote  both  to  -Mr.  Sinclair 
and  Mr.  Gilbert,  regretting  he  had  not  seen  them  before 
leaving.  His  letters  were  dated  from  a  provincial  town, 
and  stated  that  he  had  got  the  place  of  classical  and 
mathematical  master  in  a  school  there,  and  little  more. 
A  faint  dropping  fire  of  letters  was  kept  up  for  a  con- 


180  QUIXSTAK. 

siderable  time,  then  one  of  Mr.  Sinclair's  letters  was 
returned  to  him,  marked  "Not  found,"  and  Mr.  Double- 
day  was  lost  sight  of  and  apparently  forgotten,  or  nearly 
so,  by  the  inhabitants  of  Quixstar.  They  kept  the  "  nega- 
tive," however,  so  that  fortune  had  only  to  throw  a 
strong  light  upon  him  for  good  or  evil,  and  they  would 
be  all  able  to  supply  his  portrait  immediately. 

And  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  rest,  and  those  that  were  in  the 
house  with  her.  And  the  girls  spent  two  hours  every 
forenoon  in  their  uncle's  room,  he  not  interfering  much 
with  them,  only  seeing  that  they  did  not  trifle,  and  giving 
them  help  when  they  needed  it,  and  he  could  give  it  ; 
for  when  he  couldn't  he  never  hesitated  to  say  so — a 
touch  of  greatness  to  which  every  one  is  not  equal — and 
exerted  himself  to  hunt  down  the  information  wanted, 
and  they  came  to  know  each  other  better,  and  to  respect 
and  like  each  other — not  love.  The  truth  is,  when  one 
person  has  been  in  the  habit  of  snubbing,  and  another  of 
being  snubbed,  no  conditions  more  unfavorable  to  love 
ever  existed.  Not  that  there  had  ever  been  any  really 
bad  feeling  on  either  side ;  there  never  had  been  anything 
worse  than  indifference,  which  gradually  gave  place  to 
an  interested  regard,  so  that  by  the  time  another  summer 
came  round,  and  Mr.  Sinclair  was  of  a  sudden  left  alone 
in  his  house,  he  woke  up  at  least  to  a  partial  sense  of 
their  value.  The  stillness  was  oppressive,  and  he 
caught  himself  counting  the  time  till  they  should  be 
home  again,  not  that  he  was  at  all  without  resources,  or 
that  he  needed  company,  but  that,  unknown  to  himself, 
he  had  got  trained  to  listen  to  his  nieces'  tongues,  and 
watch  their  looks. 


,     CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  reason  of  this  temporary  eclipse  at  Old  Battle 
House,  or  the  motive  power  rather,  was  Tom.  He  liked 
fishing,  and  he  liked  loch-fishing.  He  had  spent  his  holi- 
days often  in  this  way  alone,  but  on  the  present  occasion 
his  mother  thought  it  well  to  accompany  him,  and  they 
all  went  to  Lochside,  a  place  in  the  West  Highlands,  so 
out  of  the  way  that  Mrs.  Sinclair,  who  did  not  appreciate 
scenery,  and  liked  conveniencies,  said  if  she  had  known 
the  difficulty  of  getting  the  necessaries  of  life  she 
never  would  have  gone.  She  allowed  her  daughters — 
"  being  always,"  as  she  said,  "  far  too  good-natured  " — to 
ask  the  Gilbert  girls  to  visit  them  there. 

"  I  wouldn't  let  them  go,"  said  Mr.  Gilbert  to  his 
wife  when  he  heard  of  the  invitation. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Gilbert. 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  Mrs.  Sinclair  is  always  speak- 
ing down  on  people ;  and  after  all,  who  is  she  ?  Her  hus- 
band was  a  mere  nothing.  No  doubt  she  has  money. 
Without  it  what  would  she  be  ?  I  don't  like  her." 

"  But  she  is  not  asking  you  to  visit  her?"  said  his  wife. 

"  No ;  I  daresay  she  knows  better  than  that." 

"  I  don't  see  the  difference  between  visiting  them  at 
Old  Battle  House,  and  visiting  them  in  the  West  High- 
lands." 

"  She'll  let  you  know  it  some  day,  though ;  she'll 
think  she  has  done  you  a  great  favor." 

"  Well,  I  think  it  is  very  kind  of  her  to  ask  the  girls 


182  QUIXSTAR. 

to  go  with  them  ;  and  they  are  very  anxious  to  go.  They 
have  not  very  much  change,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  I  know  that  well  enough.  I  don't  need  to  be 
told  that  we  are  poor."  Mr.  Gilbert  had  come  out  of  his 
school  in  a  bad  mood. 

"  I  neither  think  nor  feel  that  we  are  poor ;  "  said  Mrs. 
Gilbert  cheerily,  and  she  diverted  the  conversation  to 
other  topics.  His  was  a  trying  occupation,  and  we  are 
all  poor  creatures.  But  what  a  remarkable  thing  the 
love  of  a  good  woman  is  !  After  having  for  years  tacked, 
and  humored,  and  managed,  and  kept  down  her  own  in- 
firmities of  temper  and  temperament,  all  to  soothe,  and 
cheer,  and  "  keep  up  "  her  husband,  she  loved  him  now, 
when  he  was  wonderfully  real,  as  much  as  when  she 
married  him,  thinking  he  was  her  ideal.  Surely  this  is 
instinct.  It  is  said  women  don't  reason  ;  if  so,  many  a 
man  ought  to  be  thankful. 

After  Tom's  furlough  was  over  the  Gilberts  went, 
according  to  Mrs.  Sinclair's  arrangement,  for  she  ex- 
plained, "  When  my  son  is  with  us  we'll  not  have  room, 
our  accommodation  is  so  limited." 

"  Why  did  the  woman  ask  them,  if  she  hasn't  room  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Gilbert. 

It  was  good-natured  of  Tom  Sinclair  to  consent  to 
this  invitation  being  given,  for  when  he  came,  as  he  did 
regularly  at  the  end  of  the  week,  he  had  to  betake  him- 
self to  an  inn  in  which  great  ease  could  not  be  had — 
not  a  modern  palace  dropped  at  the  foot  of  a  mountain, 
but  a  little  primitive  Highland  public-house.  Oftener 
than  not  he  brought  John  Gilbert  with  him,  and  John 
was  an  acquisition  in  any  company,  both  useful  and  or- 
namental. 

"  What  a  lovely  sunset ! ''  Erne  exclaimed,  when  they 
were  out  one  evening  on  the  loch. 


QTJIXSTAR.  183 

"  Oh,  the  sunset  is  well  enough,"  said  John  ;  "  per- 
fectly well." 

"  Can  anything  in  nature  equal  it  ? "  pursued  Effie 
with  enthusiasm. 

"  Something  in  art  is  very  like  it,"  said  John.  "  You've 
seen  a  red  bottle  in  a  druggist's  window  at  night  ?  " 

"  John,  you  are  a  Vandal,"  cried  Bell.  "  I  feel  moved 
to  capsize  you  into  the  water."  John  was  leaning  over 
the  boat,  and  it  would  not  have  been  difficult  to  make 
him  lose  his  balance. 

"Do,"  he  said,  "and  I'll  take  you  with  me.  I  like 
pleasant  company." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Bell ;  "  I  don't  like  my  pleasure 
damped." 

"  "What's  the  use  of  going  off  in  spasms  about  a  sun- 
set ?  "  Tom  remarked.  "  Jack  is  right ;  that  round  disk 
is  very  like  the  red  bottle  in  a  druggist's  window." 

"  But  wandering  oft  with  brute  unconscious  gaze, 
man  marks  not  thee,"  declaimed  Effie. 

"  Oh,  Jemmy  Thomson,  Jemmy  Thomson  —  oh !  " 
chanted  John. 

"  I  wish  you  would  look  to  your  oar,  Jack,"  said 
Jane  Gilbert ;  "  you'll  land  us  all  in  the  water  yet." 

"  I  can't  work  miracles,"  said  John.  "  I'll  hardly 
land  you  in  the  water." 

"  Suppose  you  tumble  us  in  ?  "  Jane  said. 

"Well,  suppose  it,  if  it  gives  you  any  enjoyment." 

"  Sit  still,  Jane,  and  we're  all  safe,"  said  Tom. 

"Oh,  I  can  trust  you  perfectly,  Tom;  if  you  had 
not  been  here,  I  don't  think  I  would  have  come,"  Jane 
said. 

"  Tom  does  not  speak,  Jane,"  said  Bell ;  "  his  feelings 
are  .too  deep  for  words." 

"  Here  is  little  Mary  in  the  corner,"  Effie  said,  "does 


184  QUIXSTAR. 

not  speak  either. — Come,  what  are  you  thinking  about  ? 
are  your  thoughts  also  too  deep  for  words  ?  " 

Mary  Gilbert,  the  youngest  of  the  group,  answered, 
"  No,  they  are  not ;  but  I  never  can  get  room  to  speak, 
you  all  speak  so  much." 

"Stupid  thing!"  said  Bell.  J' Can  you  not  bounce 
in  whether  any  one  is  speaking  or  not  ?  But  we'll  all 
hold  our  tongues  for  two  seconds,  and  give  you  a 
chance." 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Mary,  "  that  it  would  be  de- 
lightful to  stay  out  on  the  loch  all  night." 

"  I  second  that  motion,"  said  her  brother.  "  The 
truth  is,  I'm  frightened  to  go  in." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Mary  in  wonder. 

"  The  pillows  in  my  bed  are  so  hard.  I  wished  I 
could  take  off  my  ears  last  night,  and  fling  them  on 
the  table,  they  were  so  much  in  iny  way.  My  head  felt 
all  ears  together." 

"Are  you  sure  it  was  not  a  crumpled  rose  leaf, 
John  ?  "  asked  Bell. 

"  What  are  the  pillows  stuffed  with  ?  "  Eflie  inquired. 

"  Road  metal,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,"  replied  John. 

"  I  could  weep  to  think  of  it,"  said  Bell. 

"  And  Tom,"  Jane  Gilbert  said,  "  it  is  on  our  account 
you  are  subjected  to  such  hardships." 

"  Entirely  on  your  account  that  we  are  subjected  to 
hard  pillows." 

"  Well,  I  won't  forget  it,"  said  Jane. 

"  Neither  will  I,"  John  said,  "  unless  I  get  concussion 
of  the  brain  some  night." 

"  Oh,  there  is  the  moon  coming  over  the  hill !  "  cried 
Effie. 

"  Let  her  come,"  said  John ;  "  give  her  time  5  don't 
hurry  her." 


QUIXSTAR.  185 

"  Hurry ! "  Effie  answered.  "  How  calm  and  majes- 
tic she  looks ! " 

"  She  has  nothing  else  to  do,"  John  said.  "  If  I  were 
up  there  I  could  look  calm  too." 

"  But  not  majestic,  John,"  Bell  said ;  "  not  majestic. 
'  Uneasy  lies  the.  head,'  you  know." 

"  One  gets  accustomed  to  it,"  said  Tom. 

"  To  the  moon  ?  " 

"  No ;  to  the  hardness  of  the  pillows." 

"  Tom,  you  are  not  romantic,"  said  Bell,  "  and  it's  a 
pity." 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  is,"  said  John,  "  I'm  too  ro- 
mantic— too  easily  touched  up,  and  it's  trying;  for  in- 
stance, at  this  moment,  I  don't  envy  the  man  who  could 
look  at  that  moon  without  tears." 

"  There  they  are — the  tears,"  said  Bell,  as  a  shower 
came  pattering  down  with  little  warning,  just  as  Mary 
Gilbert's  voice  struck  in,  singing, 

"  Oh  had  we  some  bright  little  isle  of  our  own, 
In  a  blue  summer  ocean  far  off  alone, 
Where  the  bee  banquets  on  through  a  whol*  year  of  flowers — " 

and  "  there  are  never  no  showers,"  her  brother  added. 
Amidst  laughter  they  made  for  the  shore,  and  all  hands 
helped  to  draw  the  boat  up  on  the  beach. 


CHAPTER  XXVHI. 

"  DEAR  Miss  RAEBUKNT,"  Bell  wrote  to  her  friend  at 
Quixstar,  "if  you  were  on  the  loch,  and  from  that  point 
of  view  saw  the  house  in  which  we  are  living,  you  would 
think  it  was  a  place  where  Virtue  attired  in  white  muslin 
should  have  her  dwelling.  It  is  heavenly.  Quixstar  is 
good,  but  I  doubt  we  shall  miss  the  loch  sadly  when  we 
return.  Somehow  water  seems  to  scenery  what  the  eye 
is  to  the  face.  We  could  fancy  ourselves  in  Eden  here. 
Mamma  does  not  like  it ;  she  says  we  can't  live  on  scenery. 
Isn't  it  a  humbling  thing,  Miss  Raeburn,  that  we  can't  do 
without  food  ?  I  remember  Mr.  Doubleday  used  to  get 
impatient  of  his  body.  I  begin  to  sympathize  with  him, 
although  it  is  difficult  to  imagine  what  we'll  be  without 
it.  There  is  a  postman  passes  our  door  on  some  long 
round,  and  hands  in  our  letters.  If  we  could  shut  out 
him  and  the  newspapers  there  would  be  almost  nothing 
to  desire.  Effie  and  I  don't  look  at  the  neAvspapers ;  but 
mamma  and  Jane  Gilbert  will  read  them,  and  speak  of 
the  news.  News  are  quite  out  of  keeping  here.  By  the 
bye,  mamma  has  changed  her  opinion  of  Jane  Gilbert. 
She  did  not  care  much  for  her,  but  now  she  thinks  her 
remarkably  pleasant  and  obliging.'  I  always  thought  her 
good-natured,  but  not  bright.  Mary  is  my  favorite,  only 
she  is  so  shy.  I  am  positively  thankful  when  it  is  a  wet 
day,  that  I  may  get  rest  with  a  clear  conscience,  and  I 
hibernate  on  these  days.  If  it  is  only  mist,  I  must  be 


QUIXSTAR.  187 

out.  Mist  is  a  beautiful  creature,  whether  lying  or  trail- 
ing, or  flying  before  the  wind,  or  climbing  the  mountains 
like  a  living  thing  with  the  sun's  rays  glittering  on  its 
back.  Effie  and  I  were  on  the  loch  in  a  boat  by  four 
o'clock  yesterday  morning.  The  mist  was  writhing  in 
the  glens,  on  the  far  side  of  the  loch  the  mountains  were 
standing  dark  as  night,  and  on  our  side  the  sun  picked 
out  every  scaur  and  cranny.  The  boat  sat  like  a  duck  on 
the  waters,  that  sparkled  and  glittered.  Water  always 
looks  young  and  fresh,  even  when  its  face  is  wrinkled 
by  a  breeze,  and  a  dark  cloud  above  quenches  its  light ; 
it  'may  look  angry,  but  it  does  not  look  old.  We 
seemed  to  be  the  only  human  beings  in  possession ;  it 
was  singularly  delicious.  We  were  fishing,  and  it  is  as- 
tonishing how  you  get  into  the  spirit  of  it.  I  am  not  sure 
that  it  is  right  to  fish  for  amusement ;  but  we  eat  all  we 
catch,  so  that  is  not  so  bad.  John  Gilbert  says  fish  grow 
unconscious  whenever  they  are  taken  out  of  the  water, 
and  don't  suffer.  I  hope  that  is  true.  Tom  always  breaks 
their  necks  to  make  sure  their  misery  is  over,  but  I 
don't  like  to  see  him  doing  it.  I  have  been  out  all  day, 
and  am  a  little  tired,  so  I  mean  to  do  nothing  more 
than  sit  in  the  window,  and  watch  the  moonlight  on 
the  loch  and  the  hills.  When  it  is  a  dark  night  it  has  a 
strange  eerie  effect  to  go  out.  and  listen  to  the  intense 
silence.  We'll  not  be  long  of  being  home  now. — I  am 
yours,  T.  B.  SINCLAIR." 

"  MY  DEAR  TIBBY,"  wrote  Miss  Raeburn, "  I  am  glad 
you  enjoy  scenery.  I  can  do  with  it  too  when  there  is  a 
sufficiency  of  appetizing  food,  and  mist  is  very  nice  to 
people  who  have  not  got  rheumatism ;  but  what  is  scenery 
compared  with  the  things  that  have  been  taking  place 
here  ?  What  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Kennedy  having  gone 


188  QUIXSTAR. 

over  to  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  actually  entering  a 
convent,  and  leaving  his  poor  invalid  wife  to  make  the 
best  of  it  ?  For  my  part,  I  am  prepared  for  your  uncle 
turning  a  Mahometan.  Then  we  have  had  a  murder,  or 
what  promises  to  be  one ;  and  the  eldest  Miss  Smith  has 
run  off  with  a  dancing-master.  And  we  are  to  have 
a  prize-fight ;  but  don't  tell,  for  I  got  it  in  confidence. 
Dear  Tibby,  I  was  innocently  bursting  with  my  news, 
but  as  you  say  news  of  any  kind  is  quite  out  of  place 
hi  Paradise,  so  rather  than  write  another  note  I'll  just 
draw  my  pen  through  what  I  have  written,  and  hope 
you'll  excuse  my  thoughtlessness.  Your  uncle  is  weary- 
ing for  you ;  so  am  I.  What  a  fine  touch  that  is :  Tom 
twisting  the  trouts'  necks  from  extreme  tenderness !  I 
think  I  '11  make  a  picture  of  it.  Peter  Veitch  is  at  home 
just  now ;  and  your  uncle  having  once  tasted  the  sweets 
of  pedagogy  hankers  after  them  again,  and  has  Peter 
in  training  an  hour  every  evening.  There — I  am  tres- 
passing again,  so  no  more.  J.  RAEBURX." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair,  when  she  heard  this 
missive  read, "  they  speak  of  women  doing  unaccountable 
things,  but  of  all  unaccountable  beings  commend  me  to 
an  old  bachelor.  Peter  Veitch  at  Old  Battle  House  every 
evening!  What  is  your  uncle  thinking  of?  But  of 
course,  it's  a  far  more  natural  thing  to  take  an  interest  in 
a  boy  out  of  a  cottar's  house  than  in  his  brother's  chil- 
dren." 

"  I  think,"  said  Jane  Gilbert,  "  that  is  not  nearly  so 
remarkable  as  Mr.  Kennedy  turning  Roman  Catholic. 
I  have  a  letter  from  mamma,  but  it  is  strange  she  does 
not  mention  it." 

"  Nor  the  murder,  nor  Miss  Smith's  runaway  match, 
nor  the  prize-fight  either,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Bell. 


QUIXSTAR.  189 

ft  Leave  old  maids  alone  for  news,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

"  Most  people  like  news,  mamma." 

"Yes,  Effie;  but  people  who  have  had  no  experi- 
ence view  them  differently.  For  instance,  Miss  Raeburn 
evidently  enjoys  telling  about  Miss  Smith.  Now,  I  have 
no  feeling  but  the  most  profound  sympathy  for  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Smith." 

"  But  how  do  you  feel  for  Mrs.  Kennedy  ?  "  asked 
Jane  Gilbert.  "  For  my  part,  it  seems  incredible.  Gone 
into  a  convent !  He  was  the  last  man  I  would  have  ex- 
pected to  do  that." 

"  Oh,"  said  Bell,  "  don't  you  see  it  is  all  a  joke  ?  Miss 
Raeburn  has  been  amusing  herself  a  little  at  my  ex- 
pense." 

"  Has  she-?  and  how  do  you  like  it  ?  "  asked  her  mam- 
ma. "  If  I  were  you,  I  would  ask  her  to  amuse  herself 
at  her  own  expense  next  time." 

"  I  like  a  joke,  although  it  is  at  my  own  cost,"  said 
Bell.  "  I  wonder  you  take  it  so  seriously,  mamma.  I 
thought  you  would  have  laughed." 

"  Why  ?  I  don't  see  anything  laughable  in  stringing 
together  untruths.  Probably  Miss  Raeburn  thinks  it 
clever,  but  I  don't  see  it.  At  her  age  she  might  have 
more  sense." 

"  But,"  said  Tom,  "  is  it  necessary  to  suppose  she  is 
joking?" 

"  Not  necessary,  Tom,  but  expedient,"  answered  Bell. 

"  Why  ?  People  as  good  as  Mr.  Kennedy  have  gone 
over  to  the  Roman  Catholics  befoi'e  now,"  he  said. 

"  Better,  I  believe."  rejoined  Bell.  "  Fancy  Mr.  Ken- 
nedy with  a  hair  shirt,  and  a  discipline." 

"  Nonsense  ! "  said  her  brother.  "  Monks  live  com- 
fortably enough,  and  are  not  overworked.  I  know  Miss 
Raeburn  is  right  about  the  prize-fight.  Why  should 


190  QUIXSTAE. 

she  be  wrong  about  the  other  things  ?  Miss  Smith  is  a 
sensible  person,  and  if  a  man  was  willing  to  keep  her 
she  knew  better  than  not  to  have  him." 

"  I  have  a  line  from  your  uncle,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair. 
"  If  he  were  like  any  other  person,  he  might  have  told 
me  what  was  going  on,  but  he  says  nothing. — What  do 
you  know  about  the  prize-fight,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Merely  that  such  a  thing  is  to  be." 

"  You  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,  I  hope  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Sinclair. 

"  Thank  you ;  no." 

"  Who  has  ?  "  asked  Effie. 

"Walter  Cranstoun  is  the  mainspring,"  answered 
Tom. 

"  How  vexed  Sir  Richard  and  Lady  Cranstoun  must 
be  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sinclair.  "  I  feel  for  them,  and  it 
makes  me  doubly  thankful  for  my  own  mercies." 

"  There's  John  coming,"  cried  Effie,  "  He  was  in 
Quixstar  last  night,  and  will  be  able  to  tell  us. — John, 
has  Mr.  Kennedy  turned  a  Roman  Catholic — become  a 
monk  ?  "  she  abruptly  asked  whenever  he  appeared  in 
the  doorway. 

John  was  quick  and  ready.  "  Catch  him,"  he  said. 
"  Wouldn't  he  have  to  get  up  at  two  every  morning  to 
say  his  prayers  ?  " 

"  What  would  mamma  say  if  she  heard  you,  John  ?  " 
said  his  eldest  sister. 

"  If  she  said  what  she  thought,  she  would  say  I  was 
right." 

"  Has  Miss  Smith  run  away  with  a  dancing-master  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  heard  of." 

"  I  never  doubted  Miss  Raeburn  was  joking,"  said 
Bell. 

"  A  poor  joke,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair.     "  My  dear  girls, 


QUIXSTAR.  191 

whatever  you  set  up  for,  don't  set  up,  for  being  clever 
women.  A  clever  woman  is  no  comfort  to  herself  or  any 
other  person." 

.  "  But  I  don't  think  Miss  Raeburn  sets  up  for  being 
clever,  mamma,"  Bell  remarked. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Bell,"  said  John.  "  Clever- 
ness, like  murder,  will  out.  I  know  it  by  myself.  I 
have  often  made  conscientious  efforts  to  be  stupid,  but  it 
won't  do.  Whatever  happens,  I  hope  my  friends  will 
not  forget  that — mind,  I'm  serious." 

"  More  than  serious,"  said  Bell ;  "  melancholy  and 
morose.  We'll  hear  of  you  in  la  Trappe  shortly." 

John  burst  into  a  curious  laugh.  "  You've  hit  it,"  he 
said,  "  sure  enough.  I'll  be  in  a  trap  if  I  don't  look 
out." 

"  What  kind  of  trap,  John?"  asked  Erne.  "What 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  That's  another  way  of  being  clever,  my  dear,"  said 
Mrs.  Sinclair,  "  to  speak  in  riddles,  and  see  a  joke  where 
no  one  else  sees  it. — You  may  depend  on  it,  John,"  turn- 
ing to  him,  "  no  one  enjoys  that  kind  of  thing,  and  it  had 
better  be  dropped." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  John,  "  I'll  try." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

"  JOHN,"  said  Tom,  when  they  were  waiting  in  front 
of  the  house  for  the  girls  to  walk  in  the  evening,  "  I 
can  only  say  that  if  you  are  getting  into  another  mess 
I'll  not  help  you.  I  have  done  it  once,  and  I  won't 
do  it  again.  I  have  regretted  doing  it  once — you  under- 
stand ?  " 

"  I  hear,  at  any  rate,  but  it  is  bad  taste  to  introduce 
disagreeable  topics  here,  and  now — " 

"  It  is  worse  taste  to  act  like  a  fool.  Mind,  I  warn 
you  I  won't  be  soft  twice." 

"  How  lovely  the  sands  look  from  this  point,  with 
the  evening  sun  on  them  ! "  Erne  said  as  she  came  out. 

"  Exactly  what  I  was  saying  to  your  brother,  Effie,  but 
I  doubt  that  sort  of  thing  is  lost  on  him.  He  does  not 
care  for  it." 

"  But  you  do,"  she  said,  "  although  you  sometimes 
pretend  not.  Why  don't  you  always  speak  so  that  one 
may  know  what  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  always  look  what  I  mean,  Effie,"  he  said, 
in  a  soft  aside  that  made  her  blush  like  the  little  pools 
on  the  sands,  which  had  reddened  under  the  western 
sky.  He  went  on,  " '  Oh  had  we  some  bright  little  isle 
of  our  own,'  as  Mary  sang  the  other  night." 

"  Come,  Jack,"  said  Tom,  "  don't  be  sentimental. 
We  have  enough  of  that  without  you  chiming  in." 

John  Gilbert  had  been  coming  out  a  little  in  the 


QUIXSTAR.  193 

world,  and  had  overstepped  his  income.  Being  cashier 
in  his  office  he  helped  himself,  not  largely,  and  with  the 
intention  of  replacing  the  money  before  it  could  be  miss- 
ed. To  accomplish  this  he  had  thrown  himself  on  Tom's 
mercy,  and  not  in  vain.  It  was  a  touch-and-go  business, 
and  as  the  French  say  it  is  the  first  step  that  costs,  he 
took  it  lightly.  However,  he  might  be  quite  sure  that 
Tom  would  keep  his  word,  and  let  him  find  his  way  out 
of  such  another  scrape — if  he  got  into  another — with- 
out his  assistance. 

Bell  was  the  last  to  come  out,  and  she  found  only 
Mary  Gilbert  waiting  for  her. 

"  Have  they  really  gone  off  and  left  us  ? "  she  said. 

"  Yes ;  Tom  and  Jane  went  first,  and  then  Effie  and 
John." 

"  We'll  not  follow.  I  don't  care  about  walking. 
We'll  sit  down  somewhere  and  dream.  See,  yon  little 
toy  yacht  that  came  in  sight  a  while  ago  has  cast  anchor. 
How  innocent  and  pretty  it  looks ! " 

They  crossed  to  where  the  stump  of  a  tree  lay  by 
the  brink  of  a  mountain  stream,  which  after  a  heavy  rain 
shot  down  its  rocky  bed  so  white  and  frothy  that  it 
looked  like  a  band  of  frosted  silver  gleaming  in  the  dark 
breast  of  the  hill,  but  now  it  was  gliding  quietly  past 
with  only  a  drowsy  gurgle  like  the  purr  of  a  sleep- 
ing cat. 

"  Now,"  said  Bell,  "  We'll  sit  here  where  we  can  see 
everything,  and  let  the  music  of  the  burn  creep  in  our 
ears." 

"  Shall  we  sit  long  ?  I  wish  I  had  brought  a  book," 
said  Mary. 

"  A  book  !  Oh  Mary,  it  would  be  a  sin  to  read  in  a 
night  like  this.  Dream,  I'm  going  to  dream." 

It  was  a  place  in  which  to  dream,  if  quietness  and 
9 


194  QUIXSTAR. 

beauty  induce  day-dreams.  The  skies  were  very  bright 
and  the  blue  concave  seemed  so  near,  that  the  birds 
floating  aloft  looked  as  if  they  would  brush  against  it, 
and  come  down  glittering  in  the  dyes  of  heaven.  The 
water  was  still,  and  the  mews  flying  on  its  surface  might 
have  been  taken  for  silver  rings  jointed  in  four  places, 
and  set  rolling  on  a  crystal  flood.  The  trim  little  yacht 
sat  on  the  loch,  her  image  so  thoroughly  reproduced 
that  if  she  had  been  a  living  thing  she  would  have  snifled 
about  it,  and  made  advances  as  a  kitten  does  when  it 
sees  itself  in  a  mirror.  The  land  too  was  taking  advan- 
tage of  his  brother  sea's  good  humor  to  lock  his  hand 
in  his,  and  they  appeared  one.  It  was  difficult  to  distin- 
guish them,  and  tell  where  the  water  ended  and  the 
shore  began.  The  very  mountains  were  trying  to  look 
at  themselves  in  the  glass,  and  the  downy  gold-tinged 
cloudlets  changed  places  in  the  water  as  they  did  in  the 
sky  with  a  slow,  lazy  grace  of  movement. 

The  girls  sat  silent  for  a  long  time,  when  Bell  said 
suddenly,  "  Mary,  you  are  the  very  thing  for  an  evening 
like  this." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  you  can  hold  your  tongue." 

"  Any  one  can  do  that.     It's  not  difficult." 

"  Not  very  many  people  can  do  it  well."  Mary 
laughed. 

"  But  don't  you  know,  Mary,  that  there  is  a  silence 
that  is  oppressive,  and  a  silence  that  is  delicious  ? — the 
people  that  are  silent,  not  meaning  in  the  least  either  to 
soothe  or  irritate  you." 

"  Then  it  must  be  you  who  are  either  in  a  good  or 
bad  humor." 

"  Perhaps,  possibly ;  I  don't  know,"  said  Bell  mus- 
ingly." 


QUIXSTAR.  195 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Mary,  in  a  tone  of  alarm ;  "  there's  a 
man  coming  down  the  hill  above  us." 

"  Are  you  frightened  ?  The  people  are  not  savages." 

"  Ho ;  but  we  are  far  from  the  house,  and  he  may  be 
a  sturdy  beggar." 

"  If  he  is  a  beggar,  I  hope  he  is  sturdy,  poor  creature. 
People  that  beg  would  need  to  be  sturdy,  I  think." 

"  Bell,  I  don't  believe  you  know  what  fear  is." 

"  Oh,  I  could  be  as  frightened  as  any  one  if  I  saw 
good  cause,  but  the  man  coming  is  one  of  the  men  be- 
longing to  that  yacht.  I  have  watched  him  all  the  time  : 
two  landed,  one  went  along  the  shore,  the  other  up  the 
hill,  and  now  he's  coming  down  again,  and  we'll  have 
the  pleasure  of  gazing  at  a  human  being  other  than  our- 
selves." 

"  I  hope  he'll  pass  and  take  no  notice  of  us." 

"  To  be  sure  he  will !  You  are  easily  frightened, 
Mary." 

The  man  in  passing  looked  very  broadly  at  them 
with  a  half  smile  on  his  face.  It  seemed  as  if  he  would 
go  on,  then  he  stopped,  turned  and  said,  "  I  suppose  you 
don't  know  me  ?  My  mother  was  not  sure  of  me." 

"  Peter  Veitch  !  "  cried  Bell,  starting  up  and  laugh- 
ing with  pleasure.  "  Your  mother  must  not  have  had 
her  spectacles  on ;  you  have  grown  a  hairy  creature,  but 
I  would  know  a  Quixstar  face  looking  out  of  a  bear's 
skin." 

"  I  would  not  have  known  him,"  said  Mary. 

"  But  how  are  you  here  ? "  Bell  asked.  "  I  heard 
uncle  was  teaching  you,  and  I  know  he  does  not  allow 
trifling;  and  how  did  you  know  us — we  are  a  little 
changed  I  should  think  ?  " 

"  I'll  sit  down  before  I  tell  you,  although  you  don't 
ask  me." 


196  QUIXSTAR. 

"  Oh,  yes.     Share  our  stump ;  Mary,  can  you — " 

Peter  was  just  putting  his  foot  on  a  grassy  knoll, 
when  Bell  cried — 

"  Not  there ;  don't  set  your  foot  down  there.  Oh, 
it's  done." 

"  What  is  it  ?     What  is  done  ?  "   he  asked,  puzzled. 

"  Look  here,"  and  she  went  on  her  knees  on  the 
grass,  while  he  did  the  same,  "  do  you  see  what  you've 
done  now  ?  You  have  bombarded  a  city,  made  a  vol- 
canic eruption,  an  earthquake."  It  was  an  ant-hill  into 
which  he  had  crashed  his  foot,  making  an  awful  commo- 
tion. "  These  creatures  will  have  a  third  edition  of  their 
newspaper  out  to-night — how  do  you  think  you'll  figure 
in  it?" 

"  The  ants  were  hurrying  hither  and  thither  in  terri- 
ble confusion,  those  of  them  that  had  escaped  destruc- 
tion wildly  asking  what  had  happened,  and  the  news 
spread  in  a  way  that  might  have  made  the  telegraph 
blush  for  its  deliberation,  then  gangs  of  the  little  shiny 
brown  and  black  insects  set  to  work  to  bury  the  dead 
and  repair  the  ruin. 

"  I  have  made  fearful  havoc,"  said  Peter,  looking  up 
from  the  curious  sight  and  meeting  Bell's  eyes,  "  and  I'm 
very  sorry." 

"  So  am  I,  but  it  can't  be  helped,"  and  at  this  very 
moment  across  the  ant-hill  a  look  printed  a  thought  be- 
tween these  two  that  never  might  remove — printed  it, 
however,  in  invisible  ink. 

"  We  can't  do  anything  to  help  them,  I  suppose  ?  " 
said  Mary. 

"  Stand  out  of  their  way,  that's  all,"  said  Bell.  "  I 
wonder  if  the  little  atoms  can  feel  grief?  " 

il  I  hope  not,"  said  Peter,  "  or  I  must  have  caused 
lamentation  and  woe." 


QUIXSTAR.  197 

"  Well,  now  that  the  hubbub  is  over,  what  have  you 
to  do  with  that  fairy  ship  lying  on  that  fairy  ocean  ? " 
Bell  asked,  pointing  to  the  yacht. 

"I  am  a  visitor  on  board;  it  belongs  to  "Walter 
Cranstoun." 

"  I  commend  his  taste ;  to  glide  about  on  a  summer 
sea  in  such  an  ark  as  that  must  be  a  very  charming 
thing." 

"  He  finds  a  week  or  two  enough  at  a  time,  though," 
said  Peter,  "  and  so  it  is." 

"  What — don't  you  like  the  sea  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  sea ;  but  I  don't  call  that  pretty  pond  the 
sea;  at  sea  we  have  work  as  well  as  enjoyment — that's 
all  enjoyment,  and  one  tires- of  it." 

"  Do  you  enjoy  a  storm  at  sea  ?  " 

"  Enjoy  is  not  the  word.  I  don't  know  that  I  could 
make  you  understand  it;  it  is  something  deeper  and 
higher  than  enjoyment.  I  wish  you  had  been  in  a  storm, 
you  would  not  forget  it ;  you  would  know  what  I  mean." 

"  Tell  me  true — are  you  not  frightened  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,"  said  Mary,  "  it  is  as  safe  on  the  sea  as  on  the 
land.  God  is  everywhere." 

"  Yes ;  but  it  is  not  as  safe  on  the  sea  as  on  the  land," 
said  Bell.  "  You  don't  think,  Mary,  that  sitting  in  the 
parlor  at  Quixstar  on  a  dark  windy  Avinter  night  is  not 
safer  than  being  on  a  ship  in  the  Atlantic  ?  If  one  place 
were  as  safe  as  another,  where  would  courage  be  ?  You 
used  to  be  a  bold  little  urchin,  Peter ;  I  suppose  you 
are  that  yet." 

"  An  urchin  ?  You  can  judge  for  yourself."  They 
looked  at  him,  and  laughed.  He  was  rather  tall — not 
dark,  however  ;  his  hair  was  lightish  brown  and  still  un- 
ruly— no  treatment  could  take  the  curl  out  of  it;  his 


198  QUIXSTAR. 

skin  was  brown  with  the  sea  tan ;  he  had  an  open  good- 
looking  face,  keen  grey  eyes,  with  sight  like  a  vulture's, 
a  hearty  laugh,  and  a  frank  manner,  which  bridged  the 
interval  since  he  and  these  girls  had  been  school-fellows 
with  the  agility  of  a  cat. 

"  What  are  you  and  uncle  studying — mathematics  ?  " 
asked  Bell.  "  I  thought  so,  that  is  his  hobby,  but  some- 
times I  think  he  is  not  very  bright,  at  least  he  seems  so 
astonished  at  me  understanding  a  thing  readily  that  either 
he  must  have  had  great  difficulty  himself,  or  he  must 
have  thought  me  next  thing  to  an  idiot.  I  suppose  you 
need  mathematics  to  take  the  latitude  and  longitude?" 

"  Oh,  I  could  do  that  before  I  knew  mathematics  at 
all;  but  I  like  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  things." 

"  That's  very  like  you ;  but  the  worst  of  it  is  one 
never  can  get  to  the  bottom  of  things. 

"  Well,  as  far  as  one  can  get." 

"  But  don't  you  feel  worried  when  you're  baffled  ?  I 
feel  as  I  do  when  I  am  listening  to  intense  silence, — my 
very  external  ears  seem  to  stand  up,  but  you  make  noth- 
ing of  it.  By  the  way,  why  are  you  not  in  white  ducks 
and  a  blue  jacket — isn't  that  the  proper  sailor  rig  ?  For 
anything  I  see,  you  might  be  a  mere  landlubber." 

"  That's  what  I  am  at  present ;  you  should  see  me  at 
work." 

"  What  do  you  do  ?  Is  it  hard  work,  hauling  at  ropes 
and  singing  Dibdin's  songs  ?  I  love  Tom  Bowling.  I 
really  would  like  to  go  a  voyage  to  see  into  things." 

"  Would  you  ?  "  said  Peter  with  enthusiasm.  "  When 
you  do,  I  hope  it  will  be  in  my  ship." 

"  Bell  does  not  know  what  fear  is,"  said  Mary.  "  I 
would  not  go  a  sea-voyage  if  I  could  help  it." 

"  What !  when  it  is  as  safe  on  sea  as  on  land  ?  "  said 
Bell. 


QUIXSTAK.  199 

"  Oh,  I  forgot,"  said  Mary. 

"  Has  uncle  been  telling  you  yet  that  mathematics 
is  pure  poetry,  Peter  ?  " 

"  No,  we  have  no  poetic  flights ;  we  stick  to  busi- 
ness." 

"  I  have  not  been  able  to  see  the  poetry  yet,  but  I 
may  in  time.  Uncle  does  not  talk  much ;  how  do  you 
get  on  with  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well  enough.'1 

"  You'll  have  plenty  to  speak  about ;  for  my  part,  I 
can  never  think  of  anything  to  say." 

"  I  would  never  have  guessed  that." 

"  Ah,  when  I  am  beside  people  that  I  can  say  any- 
thing to  that  comes  into  my  head  I  get  on,  but  with 
uncle  I  always  catch  myself  thinking  what  to  say,  and 
when  you  do  that  nothing  seems  worth  saying." 

"  I'm  glad  I'm  not  Mr.  Sinclair,"  said  Peter.  "  Are 
you  going  to  be  here  long  ?  " 

"  Till  Friday." 

"  That  is  the  day  I  arrive  in  Quixstar  too.  Do  you 
see  that  man  down  there  ?  He  came  ashore  with  me  in 
search  of  milk  or  eggs  or  something,  and  lie  is  getting 
impatient  to  be  off." 

"  But  you'll  stop  and  go  to  the  house  with  us  and  see 
the  others  ? — we're  all  here." 

"  I'm  sorry  I  can't  wait.  Tell  them  so,  will  you  ? " 
and  he  bade  them  good-bye,  and  strode  down  the  hill 
with  nothing  of  the  porpoise-roll  of  the  conventional 
sailor  in  his  gait. 

"  He  is  changed,"  said  Bell,  "  but  very  like  himself." 

"  He  seems  to  have  stood  hardships  well." 

"  I  hope  he  has  not  had  many  hardships,  Mary," 

"  They  waited  till  the  boat  pushed  off,  leaving  a 
trail  behind  it  as  of  arms  stretched  out  to  clasp  some 


200  QUIXSTAR. 

loved  one  and  say  farewell.  Then  the  yacht  spreading 
her  sails  glided  away,  and  was  lost  to  view  round  the 
nearest  point.  S.till  they  lingered;  it  was  a  night  that 
did  not  seem  made  for  sleep,  yet  the  deep  rosy  sleep  of 
youth  was  not  out  of  keeping  with  its  exceeding  beauty 
and  majesty. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

WHEN  Bell  and  Mary  went  in  they  found  the  others 
assembled. 

"  What  became  of  you  ?  "  said  John. 

"  Rather,  what  became  of  you  ? "  Bell  answered ; 
"  why  didn't  you  wait  for  us  ?  But  we  have  had  an  ad- 
venture which  you  have  missed." 

"  I  had  a  kind  of  adventure  too,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair. 
"  A  man,  something  like  a  sailor,  passed  the  house  ; 
when  he  saw  me  sitting  in  the  window  he  came  forward 
and  held  out  his  hand.  I  said,  '  No,  no,  I  don't  want 
any.' 

"  '  Any  what  ? '  he  said. 

"  '  Shells  or  silks,  or  whatever  you  are  selling,'  I  said. 

"  '  I  am  not  selling  anything.  I  am  Peter  Veitch,  the 
son  of  Peter  Veitch  at  Quixstar.' 

"  '  Well,'  I  said ;  '  what  do  you  want  ?  ' . 

"  '  Nothing,'  he  said,  and  went  off  quickly. 

"  I  thought  how  true  the  words  of  the  poet  are, '  The 
child  is  father  of  the  man  ! '  He  used  to  be  a  very  for- 
ward boy,  and  it  was  certainly  impudent  enough  of  him 
to  accost  me  as  he  did.  If  I  had  not  checked  him,  no 
doubt  he  would  have  pushed  himself  in  when  we  go 
back  to  Quixstar,  especially  as  your  uncle  patronizes 
him." 

Bell  listened,  her  face  red  with  vexation. 

"  Why  were  you  so  unkind,   mamma  ?  "   she   said  ; 
"it  is  not  like  you." 
9* 


202  QUIXSTAR. 

"  Unkind,  my  love?  It  was  true  kindness  to  let  the 
lad  know  his  place  at  once." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  I  believe  he  came  ashore  chiefly  to  see 
us,  like  the  warm-hearted  sailor  he  is.  "What  will  he 
think?" 

"  Don't  be  foolish.  Bell.  I  had  no  intention  of  hurt- 
ing the  lad's  feelings.  He  would  see  that  well  enough.1" 

Bell  said  no  more,  but  her  spirits  hung  fire  the  rest 
of  the  evening,  which  Tom  at  length  observing,  said — 

"  Something  must  be  going  to  happen.  I  have  not 
heard  Bell's  voice  for  half  an  hour." 

"  I  have  been  in  silent  thought,"  said  she ;  "  I  read 
somewhere  the  other  day  that  silent  thought  is  electrici- 
ty in  abeyance.  There's  a  grand  name  for  holding  your 
tongue,  Tom.  You  keep  a  good  stock  of  electricity  in 
abeyance." 

"  You  are  distressed  about  the  sea-king,  I  perceive," 
said  John  Gilbert. 

"  Yes,  I  am ;  very,"  she  said. 

"  He  had  not  felt  the  snubbing  deeply,  do  you 
think  ?  "  said  Mary  "  or  he  would  not  have  spoken  to  us." 

"He  could  not  help,  feeling  it,"  said  Bell;  "but  he 
has  a  fine  nature.  He  always  had,  and  he  overlook- 
ed it." 

"  Do  fine  natures  swallow  a  snubbing  easily  ?  "  asked 
John. 

"  I  should  think,"  said  Tom,  "  fine  natures  that  have 
come  to  maturity  in  the  forecastle  of  a  ship  would ;  but 
you  have  not  told  us  your  adventure  yet,  Bell." 

"  Merely  that  we  had  half  an  hour's  talk  with  Peter 
on  the  hillside ;  that's  all." 

"And  discovered  the  fineness  of  his' nature  ?" 

"  Rediscovered  it  only." 

"  Jane,"  said"  Bell  next  morning  to  Miss  Gilbert,  "  you 


QUIXSTAR.  203 

must  have  had  a  dull  walk  last  night  with  Tom.  Effie 
says  she  and  John  never  made  up  to  you." 

"  How  do  you  think  it  would  be  dull  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Tom  has  so  little  to  say.  I  don't  mind,  because 
I'm  his  sister,  and  am  fond  of  him,  and  know  his  good 
points,  but  it  is  different  with  you." 

u  I  can't  know  him  quite  so  well  as  you  do,  still — " 

"  What  do  you  and  he  talk  about  ?  I  sometimes  tell 
him  if  ever  he  gets  a  wife  she'll  have  to  do  the  courtship, 
for  he  won't  take  the  trouble." 

Jane  blushed  and  said,  "  Do  you  really  think  so  ? 
What  do  we  talk  of?  Various  things.  He  has  a  very 
sound  judgment,  I  think,  and  he  is  steady  and  well-be- 
haved—" ' 

"  Steady  and  well-behaved ! "  cried  Bell,  laughing, 
"  I  should  think  he  is." 

"Well,  you  should  be  thankful.  I  know  people 
whose  brothens  are  not  that,  and  it  is  a  great  thing  to 
have  to  do  with  men  you  don't  need  to  be  anxious 
about." 

"It  is  a  fine  negative  pitch  of  bliss,  certainly." 

"  Negative  or  not,  what  can  you  enjoy  if  you  are  al- 
ways anxious  ?  " 

"  Now,  I  could  imagine  a  case  where  anxiety  would 
give  a  keen  edge  to  happiness." 

"  Maybe.  But  there's  mamma  now ; — to  be  sure  papa 
and  the  rest  of  us  are  all  she  could  wish,  but  she  has  had 
constant  anxiety  about  money — how  to  make  the  most  of 
a  very  limited  income,  and  it  is  tiresome.  Even  if  John 
had  plenty  of  money  I  would  not  guarantee  that  he 
would  not  make  ducks  and  drakes  of  it ;  but  your  brother 
wilPcertainly  never  land  himself  in  a  disagreeable  po- 
sition." 

"  Not  if  he  knows  it." 


204  QUIXSTAR. 

"  And  he  will  always  know  what  he  is  about.  As  I 
said,  he  appears  to  me  to  have  such  a  sound  judgment." 

"  Yes." 

"  You  can't  think  how  tiresome  it  is  to  have  so  little 
money  !  Mamma  manages  without  losing  her  temper  or 
spirits,  but  I  couldn't." 

"  I  think  I  could,"  said  Bell ;  "  it  would  be  horrible 
if  happiness  depended  on  money  when  so  few  people 
have  it." 

"  So  mamma  always  says,  but  I  have  my  own  ideas 
about  it." 

It  has  been  a  custom  among  some  semi-barbarous 
people  to  break  all  the  beautiful  dishes  after  a  banquet, 
as  a  savage  bravado  of  wealth,  or  perhaps  to  prevent 
them  ever  being  put  to  less  worthy  or  noble  uses  ;  but 
when  the  Sinclairs  left  this  fair  scene  on  which  they,  or 
some  of  them,  had  been  feasting  for  weeks,  they  left  it 
as  fair  as  ever.  The  greatest  vulgar  man  alive  can't  fold 
up  the  mountains  and  the  tarns  when  he  goes  away,  and 
have  them  unfolded  and  specially  arranged  for  his  own 
use  when  he  returns.  Possibly  if  he  could  do  it  he 
would..  No, 

"  the  pomp  that  fills 
The  circuit  of  the  summer  hills  " 

goes  on  without  the  faintest  reference  to  him ;  nay,  it 
makes  the  rude  masses  from  the  heart  of  a  city  as  free 
of  its  glories  as  majesty  itself  can  be. 

On  the  day  the  Sinclairs  left,  just  as  they  got  out  of 
the  loch  a  steamer  entered  it,  freighted  to  the  water's 
edge  with  an  excursion  party.  It  passed  quite  close. 
The  decks  were  crowded ;  there  was  singing  and  laugh- 
ter, and  fiddles  playing,  and  babies  crying.  The  sea 
was  strewn  with  nut-shells,  orange-skins,  and  empty 


QUIXSTAR.  205 

paper  bags.  The  day  was  hot,  and  on  board  there  seem- 
ed to  be  a  general  swelter.  It  was  enjoyment  in  the 
very  rough. 

"  These,"  said  Tom,  "  are  going  to  spend  the  day  at 
our  late  quarters." 

"  What  desecration !  "  said  Effie. 

"  Why  desecration  ?  "  asked  Bell.  "  I  like  to  think 
of  all  these  lungs  being  filled  with  fine  air  and  these 
eyes  with  beauty,  even  if  they  are  not  very  conscious 
of  it.  I  saw  one  man,  at  least,  with  hard  hands  and 
corrugated  face,  who  was  laying  his  very  ears  into  the 
scenery.  If  you  had  seen  him  !  He  was  gazing  and 
gazing  with  a  perfect  dream  of  delight  in  his  face." 

"  Probably  thinking  where  he  would  get  a  light  for 
his  pipe,"  said  Tom. 

"Well, -there  is  no  law  against  a  blending  of  enjoy- 
ments,— is  there,  Tom  ?  You  and  I  ought  to  have  a 
respect  for  tobacco,"  said  Bell. 

And  the  steamer  churned  on  its  way,  leaving  the 
water  behind  it  a  wide  belt  of  white  angry  foam,  over 
which  the  sea-gulls  hovered  and  circled,  dipping  into  it 
with  their  dainty  pink  feet  curled  up  as  if  to  keep  them 
from  being  wet,  and  seizing  any  remnants  of  food  thrown 
overboard.  Was  ever  dirty  work  done  by  such  grace- 
ful-looking scavengers  ? 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

PETER  VEITCH  had  walked  into  hie  father's  house 
unannounced  on  a  Saturday  afternoon.  His  father  and 
mother  were  sitting  at  a  table  at  the  window,  he  reading 
a  newspaper,  she  with  one  of  her  hands  buried  in  the 
foot  of  the  stocking  she  was  darning.  The  house  was 
resting  from  its  usual  Saturday  forenoon  scrubbing,  the 
fireside  was  white  as  of  old,  a  big  pot  was  simmering  over 
a  clear  glow  of  cinders  in  the  grate, — except  for  an  odor 
more  rank  than  savory  that  escaped  from  it,  it  might 
have  been  a  painted  pot  upon  a  painted  fire,  both  looked 
so  unlike  any  bustle  of  human  affairs. 

Peter  stood  for  a  second  ;  then  he  said,  "  Mother  ! 
father !  do  you  not  know  me  ?  " 

"  Gude  guide  us !  Peter,  is  it  you,  bairn  ? "  said 
Mrs.  Veitch,  seizing  his  hand  and  stroking  it. 

"  Man,  Peter,  I  wadna  kenned  ye  !  "  said  his  father, 
gazing  at  him.  "  Ye're  nae  mair  like  what  ye  was  than 
a  full-grown  puddock  is  like  a  powowit." 

"  Maybe,"  said  Peter.  I  don't  think  I  had  a  tail  to 
lose,  had  I  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  if  ye  had  ye  wad  hae  lost  it,"  said  his 
mother,  "  for  ye  was  a  wild  laddie.  I  thought  if  your 
head  hadna  been  weel  fastened  on,  ye  wad  hae  come  in 
without  it  some  day,"  and  the  tears  glittered  in  her  eyes. 

"  But  it's  on  yet,  you  see ;  and  I'm  back  all  right — 
neither  drowned  nor  wrecked ;  and  the  scent  of  grum- 
phy's  supper  comes  over  me  like  an  old  song." 


QUIXSTAR.  207 

Peter's  father  and  mother  were  proud  of  him — he  was 
their  son  ;  but  he  was  not  the  little  urchin  in  baggy  mole- 
skins that  had  left  them,  and  about  whom  they  had 
agonized  at  parting,  and  who  had  promised  to  come 
back  unchanged.  The  thing  was  not  possible. 

We  part  with  our  dearest  friend,  and  Time  instantly 
begins  to  insert  a  fine  wedge,  and  by  degrees  splits  our 
interests,  our  cares,  our  feelings,  our  occupations,  all 
that  makes  our  lives.  We  meet,  but  they  will  not  dove- 
tail again.  The  son  of  this  pair  had  come  back  to  them 
a  stranger  almost,  a  full-developed  man  who  had  seen 
something  of  the  world,  with  different  ideas  and  aims 
and  education,  and  even  a  different  language,  only  his 
heart  was  in  the  right  place  still.  His  father  cross-ex- 
amined him  about  his  business,  and  his  mother  about 
himself. 

"  Bairn,"  she  said,  "  I'll  warrant  ye  hae  had  a  heap 
o'  hardships.  Mony  a  nicht  I  couldna  steek  an  e'e  for 
thinking  o'  ye." 

But  Peter  wouldn't  confess  to  hardships.  "  I've 
roughed  it  a  little,"  he  said  ;  "  that's  all. — And  now  I'll 
go  out  and  take  a  look  about  the  place,  I  think,  for  auld 
lang  syne." 

"  Ay,  do  so,"  said  his  father ;  "  and,  man,  if  ye're 
passing  Mr.  Kennedy's  door,  wad  ye  look  in  and  tell  him 
I  canna  come  on  Monday,  but  if  Tuesday'll  do  I'll  come  ? 
He  sent  a  message  when  I  was  out  that  he  wanted  me 
in  the  garden  on  Monday." 

"  Hout,  man,"  said  his  wife,  "  Peter'll  no'  care  for 
gaun  errands  now." 

"  Just  as  much  as  ever  I  did,  mother.  I'll  report 
myself  to  the  minister,  and  give  the  message." 

Peter  strolled  about  for  a  while, — not  sentimentally 
at  all,  not  as  a  man  after  the  lapse  of  half  a  lifetime  looks 


208  QUIXSTAR. 

at  the  haunts  of  his  youth,  but  in  joyous  mood,  for  he 
had  life  before  him,  and  was  in  high  health  and  spirits. 

Being  Saturday  evening,  he  found  Mr.  Kennedy  in 
his  study.  It  was  the  gloaming;  and  Mr.  Kennedy, 
seeing  what  he  supposed  was  a  rustic  in  his  Sunday 
clothes,  thought  to  himself,  "  Some  young  fool  wanting 
to  get  married." 

Peter  introduced  himself,  and  gave  his  father's  mes- 
sage. 

"  So  you  are  Peter  Veitch  ?  "  said  Mr.  Kennedy,  not 
visibly  struck  by  the  intelligence.  "  Well,  I  hope  you 
are  behaving  yourself.  And  you  have  tired  of  the  sea, 
and  are  going  to  take  to  the  spade  and  the  hoe  a'gain  ?  " 

This  was  precisely  the  remark  Mr.  Kennedy  had 
made  the  last  time  he  saw  Peter ;  but  when  memory  be- 
gins to  get  just  a  little  blurred,  the  same  circumstances 
bring  up  not  merely  the  same  ideas,  but  the  same  words. 

"  No,  I  am  not  tired  of  the  sea.  I  like  it  better  than 
I  did  at  first." 

"Ay,  indeed  ?  Well,  there  are  not  many  who  can 
say  that. — You've  grown  a  good  deal,  Peter." 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  long  away.  My  father  and  mother 
have  been  telling  me  of  a  good  many  changes  here — 

"  Yes,  yes,  changes.  Change  is  the  great  law  of  the 
world,  and  we  must  all  submit,"  Mr.  Kennedy  said,  half 
speaking  to  himself. — "  Well,  my  lad,  I'm  glad  you  are 
liking  your  calling  and  behaving  yourself;  it  is  always  a 
comfort  to  hear  of  a  lad  behaving  himself.  This  is  Satur- 
day evening;  but  I'll  see  you  again."  Holding  open  the 
door,  he  continued, "  You'll  find  your  way  out,  I  daresay ; 
— and  tell  your  father  Tuesday  will  do  as  well  as  Mon- 
day. Good-night. — I'm  very  glad  to  know  that  you  are 
behaving  yourself. 

Thinking  over  this  interview  after  he  retired  to  his 


QUIXSTAR.  209 

chamber,  Peter  laughed.  Peter  found  his  sleeping  quar- 
ters in  his  father's  house  exactly  as  he  had  left  them,  not 
that  from  romantic  devotion  the  door  had  been  locked, 
and  the  apartment  kept  sacred  in  his  absence — that  was 
impossible,  owing  to  the  simple  fact  that  it  had  not  a 
door.  It  was  reached  by  a  stair,  the  stair  being  a  ladder 
laid  against  what  appeared  to  be  a  hole  cut  in  the  roof 
of  the  passage.  A  bed  canopied  by  the  sloping  rafters,  a 
chair,  and  two  Atfsfe— big  blue-painted  boxes — which  had 
contained  the  whole  worldly  wealth  of  Peter  and  his 
wife  when  as  yet  they  were  serving  man  and  maiden, 
made  up  the  furniture  of  the  room,  but  the  sailor  had  not 
been  accustomed  to  very  luxurious  quarters,  nor  did  it 
matter  to  him.  After  he  was  in  bed  he  had  an  opportu- 
nity of  watching  the  heavens  from  the  four  panes  of 
glass  that  shone  like  an  eye  in  the  roof  of  his  nest,  till  he 
fell  asleep  with  the  imaginary  dash  of  billows  in  his  ear. 
When  he  awoke  it  was  Sabbath  morning,  and  labor 
knew  it,  and  was  still.  He  opened  the  sky-light,  and 
looked  out.  The  smoke  of  the  household  fires  was  be- 
ginning to  steal  from  the  chimneys,  and  lose  itself  in  the 
pure  morning  air.  He  could  see  in  the  garden  the  little 
hut  of  divots  he  had  made  for  a  rabbit-house  still  stand- 
ing, the  top  of  it  grown  over  with  the  minutely  wrought 
rich  little  flower  called  None-so-pretty ,- — almost  a  weed, 
yet  the  workmanship  and  the  tints  are  exquisite  :  any- 
thing more  perfect  than  the  coloring,  shaping,  and 
arranging  of  the  leaves  into  the  bright  green  rosettes 
clustered  so  humbly  on  the  ground  need  not  be  seen ; 
dear  it  is  to  every  man  and  woman  who  has  ever  been  a 
child  in  an  old-fashioned  garden.  The  water  glided  past 
from  the  upland  glens  where  all  night  it  had  been  singing 
a  quiet  tune  to  the  sleeping  woods.  Some  horses  were 
in  a  field  on  the  north  side  of  the  water,  and  of  all  rural 


210  QUIXSTAR. 

sights  on  a  Sunday,  horses  at  large  are  not  the  least  pleas- 
ant. Birds  are  pleasant.  They  may  have  their  trials  ;  it 
is  said  that  they  feel  bereavements  deeply,  but  one  can't 
believe  that  their  coquettish  little  noddles  were  ever 
made  for  anything  but  enjoyment.  If  labor  is  a  curse,  it 
has  not  alighted  on  them.  Do  they  have  twinges  of  rheu- 
matism? do  the  small  wings  ever  feel  stiff?  do  the  tiny 
throats  ever  crave  a  lozenge  ?  are  they  ever  in  low 
spirits  ?  It  cannot  be  ;  they  are  always  having  change  of 
air  and  scene.  I  am  persuaded  their  lives  are  all  holiday, 
or  why  should  they  hop,  sing,  and  dance  as  they  do  ? 
Therefore,  although  they  are  a  sight  passing  pleasant, 
you  are  not  so  much  en  rapport  with  them  as  with  the 
hard-worked  horses.  The  horse  that  on  Saturday  laid 
its  whole  mind  and  strength  to  dragging  a  burden,  on 
Sunday  saunters  leisurely  in  the  park,  twitches  his  tail, 
cocks  and  uncocks  his  ears  twenty  times  in  a  minute, 
picks  out  the  dainty  morsels  in  the  field,  and  eats  in  the 
society  of  his  intimates,  or  lays  his  neck  across  a  dike 
and  has  an  interview  with  a  neighbor,  or  takes  a  canter 
or  a  roll  on  the  grass  as  if  intoxicated  with  the  air  of 
freedom.  Swift  must  have  been  contemplating  horses  at 
large  on  a  Sunday  when  he  conceived  the  idea  of  that 
remarkable  kingdom  where  the  horses  were  the  masters, 
and  the  yahoos  did  all  the  dirty  work.  Bees  are  com- 
monly supposed  to  have  no  regard  for  the  Sunday,  but 
that  is  a  mistake.  Like  the  Jews,  they  have  a  Sabbath 
of  their  own,  and  keep  it.  Winter  is  their  resting- 
time,  and  the  whole  summer  is  a  preparation  for  it.  On 
this  Sunday  they  were  away  travelling  through  the  air, 
and  alighting  on  a  tall  French  willow  in  the  garden,  pass- 
ing from  pink  bloom  to  pink  bloom,  with  a  low  hum 
of  satisfaction,  gathering  taxes  from  Flora,  who  makes 
no  resistance  to  the  diligent  civil  little  officials. 


QUIXSTAR.  211 

Of  old,  Peter  had  been  accustomed  to  wash  his  face 
at  the  back-door,  as  less  favored  or  distinguished  mem- 
bers of  the  family  were  expected  to  do  still,  but  he 
found  now  that  his  mother's  care  bad  given  him  the 
means  of  making  his  toilet  before  he  descended.  It 
was  a  brief  inartificial  process.  Also  his  mother  stayed 
in  from  church  to  cook  a  dinner,  which  was  not  her 
custom — not  that  they  went  without  dinner  on  Sunday, 
only  it  managed  to  cook  itself  on  ordinary  occasions ; 
but  Benjamin  had  come  home  safe. 

On  Monday  morning  Mr.  Sinclair  in  walking  past 
the  gardener's  cottage  was  hailed  by  his  wife.  "  Ye'll 
ken  what's  happened,  Mr.  Sinclair  ?  "  she  said. 

"  No." 

"  Was  ye  no'  in  the  kirk  yesterday  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  was  there." 

"  Is't  possible  that  ye  didna  see  our  Peter,  the  sailor  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  observe  him ;  but,"  he  said  apologetically, 
"  I  don't  notice  people  in  church." 

It  was  inconceivable  to  Mrs.  Veitch  how  any  one 
could  have  failed  to  see  Peter. 

"  He  cam'  hame  on  Saturday,  and  his  ship  is  repairing, 
so  he'll  bide  a  wee  the  now." 

"  Tell  him  I'll  expect  to  see  him  to-day,"  said  Mr. 
Sinclair. 

"  Thank  you,  sir  ;  I'll  do  that." 

Maddy  Fairgrieve  was  in  Peter's  cottage  shortly 
after  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  I'm  sure,  Maddy,"  said  Mrs.  Veitch,  "  ye  kenned 
Peter  was  come  hame.  How  did  ye  no'  tell  Mr.  Sin- 
clair ?  He  didna  ken." 

"  Weel,  he  kens  noo.  I  dinua  think  he  is  far  ahint. 
What  cam'  o'  you  yesterday  forenoon." 

"I  had  the   denner  to  look   after.     I   ran   out  on 


212  QUIXSTAR. 

Saturday  nicht,  on  the  spur  o'  the  moment,  and  killed  a 
hen,  and  I  was  vexed  after  I  saw  how  mony  eggs  was 
in't;  but  Peter's  no1  at  hame  every  day,"  said  Mrs. 
Veitch,  trying  to  excuse  herself  for  the  extravagance  she 
had  been  guilty  of.  "  It  wad  hae  laid  on  a'  simmer,  but 
it  canna  be  helped  now."  Her  habitual  thrift  was  assert- 
ing itself  in  spite  of  her  maternal  feelings.  Nor  is  it 
trifling  (apart  from  the  pleasure  of  a  smile)  to  record 
this  trait  of  Mrs.  Veitch's  character.  Probably  thrift 
has  founded  more  families  than  soldiership  or  legal 
acumen :  even  royal  houses  have  been  built  on  this  very 
homely  and  fast  disappearing  quality. 

Mr.  Sinclair  and  Peter  entered  on  their  mathematical 
studies  at  once,  and  resumed  them  immediately  on  Peter's 
return  from  his  visit  to  Mr.  Cranstoun  on  board  the 
yacht — a  visit  accounted  for  by  Mr.  Cranstoun's  anxiety 
to  have  the  opinion  of  a  practical  seaman  on  his  new 
toy,  Tom  Sinclair  alleging  that  Mr.  Cranstoun  was  short 
of  hands,  and  had  asked  Peter  to  stop  a  gap,  but  Peter 
never  worried  himself  seeking  for  reasons  why  kind- 
ness was  shown  him,  but  was  always  ready  to  take  it  for 
kindness  pure  and  simple.  A  nature  like  this  keeps 
wonderfully  free  from  the  vexatious  dust  that  clogs  the 
movements  of  more  complicated  machinery. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"  OH,  Miss  Bell,"  said  Maddy  Fairgrieve  when  the 
family  returned,  "I  am  glad  you're  come  back.  I've 
just  been  like  a  fish  out  o'  water  the  time  you've  been 
away,  and  so  has  your  uncle,  but  he  doesna  let  on." 

"  I  rather  think,  Maddy,  he  has  enjoyed  our  absence." 

"  He  couldna  do  that — wha  likes  an  empty  house  ? — 
and  even  now  that  ye're  come  hame,  I  dinna  seem  o' 
much  use." 

"  What,  Maddy !  do  you  want  me  to  say  we  couldn't 
do  without  you  ?  " 

"  I  never  want  folk  to  say  what's  no'  true  ;  but  I  like 
best  to  work  among  bairns,  and  there's  nane  o'  ye  bairns 
now." 

"  That's  a  melancholy  fact.  I  dearly  love  my  own 
little  disappeared  self,  that  you  used  to  order  about  so." 

11  Me  order  !  I  was  far  ower  simple  wi'  ye  a' ;  but  I 
whiles  think  if  I  could  just  fa'  in  wi'  a  widower  with  a 
young  family  I  wad  hae  naething  to  wish  for." 

"  Oh,  Maddy,  what  a  pity  widowers  don't  know ! 
We'll  advertise.  Plenty  of  people  do  that,"  said  Bell, 
laughing;  "I'll  draw  up  the  advertisement,  if  not  for 
your  sake  for  that  of  the  young  family,  in  whom  I'm  in- 
terested already.  What  shall  we  say  ?  We'll  begin  with 
'  Widowers ' — then  '  respectable '  in  brackets.  Come, 
help,  Maddy ;  it  must  be  short  and  to  the  point.  '  A 
kind-hearted  and  experienced  woman  wishes  to  marry 


214  QUIXSTAR. 

a  man  with  as  many  small  encumbrances  as  possible ; 
preferences  and  cartes  exchanged.'  Will  that  do  ?  How 
many  words  is  it  ?  twenty- four,  I  declare.  Now  you  get 
eighteen  for  sixpence ;  what  can  we  strike  out  ?  I  think 
the  person  who  invented  that  system  invented  a  power- 
ful educational  engine.  We  could  just  say,  'Woman 
wishes  to  marry  man,'  etc.,  and  leave  him  to  find  out 
your  good  qualities  at  his  leisure,  and  then  he'll  only 
cost  you  sixpence.  Cheap,  if  good.  You  must  get 
your  carte  taken  again,  and  in  a  new  gown ;  and  when 
your  head  is  between  the  tongs,  just  look  pleasant,  will 
you  ?  remember  what  is  at  stake." 

"  Ye're  a  daft  lassie,"  said  Maddy ;  "  wad  ye  really 
send  a  thing  like  that  to  a  paper  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  And  bring  a'  the  riff-raff  o'  the  country  down  on  a 
body.  Na,  na !  we'll  leave  it  to  Providence." 

"  But  Providence  works  by  instruments,  Maddy." 

"  That's  true ;  but  we'll  no'  put  an  instrument  like  that 
in  his  hand. — There's  the  door-bell  ringing  ;  that'll  be 
Peter  Veitch  to  his  lesson  wi'  your  uncle.  I  was  diverted 
wi'  his  mother.  She  was  angry  Mr.  Sinclair  didna  see 
him  in  the  kirk  the  first  Sunday  he  was  at  hame." 

"  Well,  it  was  not  unnatural ;  he  is  the  apple  of  her 
eye." 

"  Apple !  but  folk  needna  be  silly,  they  micht  haud 
their  tongues ;  I  think  I  could  hae  done  that." 

"  Ay ;  but  everybody  is  not  you." 

"  That's  true  ;  and  Peter  is  a  fine-looking  laddie,  and 
just  as  free  and  frank  as  ever.  When  he  cam'  in  the 
first  time,  he  says, '  Ha,  Maddy,  is  that  you  ?  You're  not 
a  day  older ;  and  how's  the  keeper  ? '  " 

"  What  did  he  mean  by  that  ?  "  asked  Bell ;  "  what's 
the  keeper  ?  " 


QtTIXSTAR.  215 

"  He  wad  ken  best  himsel'  what  he  meant,"  replied 
Maddy,  laughing.  /  i 

"  I  wish  uncle  would  ask  Peter  to  stay  a  little  after 
his  lesson  is  over." 

"  He'll  do  that  some  nicht  likely,"  said  Maddy. 

"  I  wish  he  would,"  echoed  Bell. 

Left  to  the  freedom  of  his  own  will,  that  is  what  Mr. 
Sinclair  would  have  done,  but  he  was  specially  warned 
by  his  sister-in-law  not  to  do  it. 

"  No  good  ever  conies. of  taking  people  out  of  their 
own  stations,"  she  said  ;  "  and  it  may  do  evil.  The  girls 
have  good  sense,  and  have  been  well  brought  up,  and  I 
can  trust  them  perfectly,  still — " 

"  I'm  sure,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair,  with  a  tinge  of  irony, 
"  if  they  come  to  grief,  it  won't  be  your  blame.  Well, 
I'll  keep  Peter  to  myself." 

"  I'm  glad  you  see  and  appreciate  my  views ;  if  you 
were  to  bring  the  lad  in  for  a  little  just  before  he  sails 
I  would  not  mind ;  his  parents  are  decent  people,  and 
deserve  to  be  noticed,  perhaps." 

"  I  don't  appreciate  your  views,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair, 
with  customary  bluntness,  "  but,  as  I  said,  I'll  keep  Peter 
to  myself." 

And  Peter  came  and  went  without  being  admitted 
into  Mrs.  Sinclair's  dovecot ;  but  the  doves  were  to  be 
met  elsewhere,  and  they  were  met,  and  the  ink  in  which 
the  thought  was  printed  across  the  ant-hill  began  to  grow 
visible  to  two  pairs  of  eyes  in  the  warmth  of  these  meet- 
ings, and  when  Mrs.  Sinclair  and  her  daughters  were 
sitting  together  of  an  evening,  and  Effie  would  remark, 
"  Peter  Veitch  is  with  uncle  ;  I  heard  him  come  in,"  and 
Mrs.  Sinclair  said,  "  Yes,  my  dear,"  Bell  said  nothing  5 
but  as  the  hour  wore  on,  she  would  lean  her  head  on  her 
hand,  or,  putting  her  hands  on  the  table,  would  lay  down 


216  QtJIXSTAR. 

her  head  altogether.  When  her  mother  would  ask, 
"  What's  the  matter,  Bell ;  have  you  a  headache  ? " 
"  No,  I  haven't  a  headache ;  I'm  listening.  I  like  to 
listen,  even  if  there's  nothing  to  hear.  If  you  train 
yourself  to  listening  your  hearing  gets  very  sharp." 
And  by  this  system  of  training  Bell  heard  her  uncle 
going  to  the  door  with  his  pupil,  and  making  such  an 
uncommon  and  valuable  remark  as  this, "  It  seems  a  fine 
night,"  and  the  rejoinder,  "Very;  good-bye,  sir,"  and 
felt  her  happiness  sensibly  increased. 

Peter  had  keen  eyes  and  ears  also,  yet  even  his  sight 
could  not  pierce  a  stone  wall  nor  see  through  a  door ; 
but  we  have  all  heard  of  the  miser  who  upbraided  his 
son  for  rubbing  his  allowance  of  bread  on  the  locked 
door  of  a  room,  in  a  closet  of  which  there  stood  cheese, 
as  a  most  luxurious  extravagance ;  so  Peter  found  it  a 
great  luxury  to  have  the  chance  of  sending  his  eyes 
along  passages  where  Bell  might  possibly  be,  and  of 
passing  the  door  of  a  room  in  which  she  likely  was.  To 
see  her  standing  at  a  window  as  he  approached  the 
house  was — it  is  not  good  to  overstate  a  case — but  it 
was  very  apt  to  confuse  his  ideas  of  the  old  Egyptian's 
problems,  and  give  Mr.  Sinclair  an  opportunity  of 
demonstrating  the  whole  thing  to  his  own  satisfaction 
principally. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THERE  were  blackguards  in  Quixstar,  not  many  or 
great  to  be  sure,  still  not  to  be  despised  in  their  own 
line.  Advancing  civilization  has  not  left  the  blackguards 
behind,  at  least  those  capable  of  taking  the  arm  she 
holds  out  to  them,  and  keeping  pace  with  her.  From 
these  she  has  taken  the  ruffian  bearing,  the  bludgeon, 
and  the  crape,  and  substituted  an  oily  tongue  and  a  pen, 
which  may  make  them  less  mischievous,  or  more  so. 
But  about  this  time  there  was  a  revival  of  the  brutal 
type,  and  Mr.  Cranstoun  had  got  two  young  athletes,  not 
very  bad  yet,  but  with  fine  possibilities  of  undeveloped 
blackguardism  about  them,  to  enter  a  protest  against 
the  effeminacy  of  the  age,  and  to  give  an  exhibition  of 
the  noble  art  of  self-defence.  This  was  the  one  grain  of 
truth  among  Miss  Raeburn's  fictions  in  that  letter  which 
any  one  who  liked  her  would  have  called  amusing,  and 
which  one  who  did  not  like  her  would  have  called  foolish, 
and  even  wicked.  Walter  Cranstoun  specially  invited 
Peter  Veitch  to  be  present,  an  invitation  which  was 
accepted.  This  was  not  a  very  great  honor,  as  any 
one  in  the  secret  of  the  hour  and  the  men  was  free  to  go 
to  it;  and  it  was  curious  to  observe  the  kind  of  people 
among  whom  the  mystery  of  the  impending  event  had 
been  whispered. 

The  theatre  of  operations  was  a  field  of  Sir  Richard's, 
chosen  near  the  railway  station  for  convenience,  and  out 
10 


218  QUIXSTAR. 

from  the  station  gate  came  most  of  the  spectators.  They 
were  not  like  people  going  to  a  sheep  or  cattle  market, 
nor  like  brokers  on  their  \vay  to  a  displenishing  sale,  nor 
like  guests  for  a  wedding,  nor  mourners  for  a  funeral, 
and  yet  they  had  a  dash  of  all  these  characters  in  their 
less  respectable  phases,  but  if  told  they  were  going  to  a 
prize-fight  you  would  at  once  have  recognized  the  fit- 
ness of  the  thing,  and  there  is  always  a  certain  beauty 
in  fitness — they  were  the  men  for  the  occasion,  and  it 
was  the  occasion  for  the  men. 

It  was  not  a  sight  good  to  look  upon,  but  Peter 
Veitch  stood  and  looked  at  it;  so  did  John  Gilbert. 
John  had  come  from  Eastburgh  on  purpose  to  be  present 
— he  enjoyed  seeing  life ;  but  he  returned  to  Eastburgh 
as  soon  as  it  was  over,  so  that  if  his  own  family  heard 
he  was  there  they  might  be  pretty  sure  that  report  was 
a  mistake. 

Mr.  Cranstoun  and  more  than  a  dozen  kindred  spirits 
retired  to  the  inn  at  Quixstar  to  dine  and  settle  their 
bets.  It  is  a  rational  thing  to  dine — a  wise  thing  to 
dine  in  company — a  right  genial  thing  to  dine  with  old 
friends — therefore  Peter  Veitch  accompanied  them ;  he 
had  no  dislike  to  seeing  life  any  more  than  John  Gil- 
bert. 

Old  Peter  Veitch  and  his  wife  sat  long  by  the  fire 
that  night,  she  audibly  wondering  "  what  was  keeping 
that  callant,"  and  he  prolonging  his  usual  smoke,  filling 
his  pipe  oftener  than  once;  but  they  were  not  anxious. 
"  He's  nae  ill  gate,"  his  mother  said,  and  Peter  sat,  his 
eyes  half  shut,  and  with  that  pleased  idiotic  look  on  his 
face  peculiar  to  people  in  the  act  of  smoking. 

At  length,  convinced  that  Peter  had  found  a  night's 
quarters  elsewhere,  they  rose  to  go  to  bed,  when  there 
came  a  dull  thud  against  the  house-door. 


QUIXSTAR.  219 

"  Preserve  me  !  what's  that  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Veitch. 

"  We'll  look  and  see,"  said  her  husband. 

They  opened  the  door,  and  sitting  on  the  step  with 
his  back  to  them  and  his  head  bent  forward  was  a  man. 
Mrs.  Veitch  stooped  to  look  at  him,  and  even  in  the 
gray  light  she  recognized  her  son. 

"  It's  Peter,"  she  cried,  "  and  something  has  come 
ower  him." 

The  old  man  put  a  hand  on  his  son's  shoulder  and 
peered  into  his  face. 

"  He's  drunk,"  he  said,  "  the  first  thing  is  to  get  him 
in." 

Without  another  word,  and  with  much  exertion, 
they  got  him  into  the  house ;  to  get  him  up  to  his  own 
bed  was  impossible — he  was  drunk  and  incapable ;  they 
placed  him  on  a  chair,  and  there  he  sat  helplessly,  his 
mother  at  his  shoulder  supporting  him.  She  and  her 
husband  gazed  at  each  other;  not  only  had  they  hitherto 
had  perfect  confidence  in  their  son,  they  had  looked  up  to 
him  as  to  a  superior  being,  and  the  mingling  of  love  and 
pity  and  grief  and  amaze  in  their  faces  was  wonderful. 
They  got  him  to  lie  down  on  the  bed,  where  he  soon 
fell  asleep,  while  they  took  their  seats  on  each  side  of  the 
fire  again,  saying  never  a  word.  They  had  made  an  idol 
of  Peter,  and  they  were  struck  dumb ;  fallen  greatness 
men  handle  gently,  even  when  they  are  not  connected 
with  it. 

Before  six  the  gardener  went  out  to  his  daily  la- 
bor, and  Mrs.  Veitch  went  into  her  garden  to  lay  some 
clothes  on  the  hedge  to  dry ;  when  she  came  in  again  the 
bed  was  empty,  she  got  a  great  start,  but  immediately  a 
voice  from  the  upper  regions  cried,  "  Mother,  I  am  here." 
She  went  up  and  spoke  to  him;  he  only  said,  "Leave 
me  alone,  mother." 


220  QUIXSTAR. 

Peter  Veitch  had  not  spent  the  last  years  of  his  life 
in  a  sheltered  seclusion ;  but  it  is  one  thing  to  see  other 
people  in  a  state  of  drunkenness,  and  another  to  behold 
yourself  on  that  beastly  eminence.  He  hunted  all  round 
for  some  excuse,  some  palliation,  but  found  none,  nor 
the  shadow  of  such  a  thing,  so  with  a  frightful  headache 
he  lay  in  misery  and  humiliation.  It  came  into  his  mind, 
What  if  Mr.  Kennedy  should  meet  him,  and  ask  how  he 
was  behaving  himself?  and  in  the  midst  of  his  wretch- 
edness he  laughed,  then  he  rose  and  shook  off  his  sin.  so 
far  as  genuine  repentance  will  do  that,  and,  clothed  in 
his  right  mind,  he  went  down  when  his  mother  called 
him  to  dinner. 

There  was  an  awkwardness,  although  Peter  and  his 
wife  exerted  themselves  to  talk  jauntily  about  various 
things,  and  Mrs.  Veitch,  by  way  of  drawing  her  son  out 
of  his  own  thoughts  and  into  the  stream  of  conversation, 
asked  cheerily,  "  What  o'clock  are  ye,  Peter  ?  The 
knock  was  standing  this  forenoon,  and  I'm  no  sure  that 
she's  richt." 

Then  Peter  had  to  reveal  that  on  the  previous  night 
he  bad  been  robbed  of  purse  and  watch — the  watch 
that  had  been  his  grandfather's,  which  had  been  given 
to  him  by  his  mother  when  he  went  to  sea. 

"  Robbed  !  "  cried  his  father  in  the  excitement  of  the 
moment ;  "  that  beats  a'." 

"  Weel,  weel,"  said  Mrs.  Yeitch, "  it  was  o'  sma'  value. 
Ye  wad  hae  gotten  naething  fort  but  the  price  o'  auld 
silver." 

This  watch,  that  had  for  many  a  year  told  off  the 
hours  of  a  good  man's  life,  was  by  this  time  in  the  melt- 
ing-pot. 

It  was  not  native  talent  that  committed  the  robbery, 
although  it  must  be  allowed  that  there  were  natives 


QUIXSTAR.  221 

equal  to  it,  but  a  deputation  of  professional  metropoli- 
tan thieves  that  had  been  sent  that  day  to  Quixstar  on 
business,  and  a  good  deal  of  property  changed  hands, 
and  did  so  with  safety — no  efforts  were  made  by  the 
owners  to  recover  it. 

"  That  was  a  fine  affair  at  the  station  yesterday ! " 
said  Tom  Sinclair  to  his  sisters  when  he  appeared  next 
day.  "  The  field  is  trampled  as  if  a  herd  of  buffaloes 
had  been  in  it.  I'm  told  that  the  "very  game  was  scared ; 
and  by  the  way,  the  sea-king  was  crapulous." 

"  That's  the  name  John  Gilbert  invented  for  Peter 
Veitch,"  said  Effie ;  "  but  what  does  crapulous  mean  ?  " 

"  What !  You  learned  ladies  don't  know  what  crap- 
ulous means  ?  Go  to  the  dictionary." 

"  I  know,"  said  Bell ;  "  it's  from  the  Latin — crapitas, 
crapitos,  crapitorum,  to  use  obsolete  long  words." 

"  Oh,  a  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing,"  said  Tom. 

"  Drink  deep,"  said  Bell,  laying  her  hand  on  her 
brother's  shoulder ;  "  and  that  is  exactly  what  Peter 
Veitch  did  not  do." 

"  Crapulous,"  said  Effie,  who  had  gone  to  the  dic- 
tionary, "  means  sick  with  drunkenness." 

"  You  have  it,"  said  Tom. 

"Peter  Veitch  was  not  drunk,"  said  Bell.  "You 
may  have  been  told  so,  but  it  is  a  mistake." 

"  If  it's  a  mistake,  all  the  better  for  him,"  said  Tom ; 
"  but  it's  a  common  thing  among  sailors,  especially  when 
they  get  a  run  on  shore.  Very  likely  he's  used  to  it." 

Bell  did  not  trust  herself  to  speak  again.  A  drunk- 
en common  sailor !  "  It's  a  lie,"  she  said  to  herself  em- 
phatically, "  and  I'll  make  sure  of  it.  Whom  can  I  ask  ? 
There  is  no  one  I  can  ask  but  himself,  and  I'll  do  it  this 
very  evening." 

As  the  man  who  plans  murder  fixes  his  eye  on  what 


222  QUIXSTAR. 

he  will  have,  revenge  or  booty,  and  loses  sight  of  the 
means  and  their  consequences,  so  Bell  thought  of  nothing 
but  the  straightest  road  to  her  end,  and  as  the  door 
opened  in  the  evening  to  admit  Peter  to  his  lesson,  he 
lifted  up  his  eyes  and  beheld  her  come  sweeping  down 
the  staircase,  her  figure,  especially  her  head,  framed  in 
a  sheaf  of  bright  rays  which  the  autumn  sun  sent  through 
the  window  behind  her,  and  he  was  dazzled.  What  if 
this  wondrous  vision  had  hailed  him  with  the  unminced 
question,  "  Were  you  drunk  last  night  ?  " 

But  it  came  on  and  said,  "  How  do  you  do  ?  Yes ; 
I  think  uncle  is  waiting  for  you,"  and  disappeared  through 
a  door. 

If  Bell  had  asked  that  question  she  would  have 
proved  herself  her  mother's  daughter,  which  she  was  not. 
Nature  in  making  her  had  taken  a  leap  back  among  her 
ancestors  to  select  the  materials,  and  in  coming  down  the 
stairs  it  had  flashed  on  her,  "  If  it  is  true,  have  I  any  right 
to  humble  him  before  me  ?  and  if  it  is  not  true,  have  I 
any  right  to  insult  him  ?  "  which  correct  instinct  produced 
the  very  tame  interview  recorded,  although  one  would 
really  have  liked  to  know  how  Peter  would  have  taken  it. 
It  is  to  be  feared  that,  humbled  in  his  OAVU  eyes  though 
he  was,  it  would  have  gone  far  to  prove  the  goddess 
mortal.  As  it  was,  he  went  away  with  the  picture  set 
in  rays  hung  up  in  his  memory  for  ever. 

When  Mr.  Sinclair  came  in  from  seeing  his  pupil  to 
the  door  he  said,  "  Peter  leaves  to-morrow  to  rejoin  his 
ship.  He  is  a  fine  young  man." 

"  You  might  have  asked  him  in  for  a  little,"  said  Mrs. 
Sinclair. 

"  I  might,  but  probably  he'll  be  busy  to-night,  and  I 
did  not  ask  him." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

So  Bell  held  her  faith  in  Peter  Veitch  unshaken. 
Faith  and  love  go  hand  in  hand  all  the  world  over,  and 
anything  more  terrible  than  their  divorce  human  nature 
is  not  called  upon  to  endure,  yet  just  such  an  engine  of 
torture  as  this  was  being  slowly  but  surely  prepared  for 
nerves  of  the  finest  in  Quixstar. 

How  many  people  must  come  into  this  world,  and  go 
out  of  it,  without  encountering  genuine  sympathy.  Not 
the  kind  of  people  who  lift  up  their  voices  and  cry  aloud 
for  it,  who  meet  with  nothing  congenial,  and  tell  you  of 
their  very  fine  and  delicate  feelings — when  you  fall  in 
with  such,  look  out  for  some  extra  piece  of  selfishness, 
and  you'll  not  likely  be  disappointed ;  but  those  whose 
fineness  of  feeling  shows  itself  in  care  for  others,  and  in 
freedom  from  selfishness,  the  good  and  the  humble, 
whose  humility  is  not  a  creeping  self-conscious  thing, 
leaving  them  liable  to  be  trampled  on,  but  a  quality  that 
is  always  clad  in  dignity  and  self-respect.  Such  a 
person  was  Mrs.  Gilbert.  It  would  need  a  fine  touch  to 
draw  her  truly.  Her  daily  life  was  a  repetition  of 
details  too  trifling  to  be  dwelt  on,  but  which  had  to  get 
her  best  attention,  or  the  domestic  machine  would  have 
begun  to  creak  and  groan.  She  did  not  delight  in  them, 
but  she  attended  to  them  well  and  ungrudgingly.  Many 
women  would  have  become  smaller  and  narrower  in 
such  circumstances,  but  she  had  capacity  to  guard  against 


224  QUIXSTAR. 

that — only  this  very  capacity,  and  the  high  tone  on  which 
her  nature  was  pitched,  if  they  increased  her  enjoyments, 
laid  her  open  also  to  keener  suffering. 

Despite  her  love — and  it  was  deep  and  true — she 
could  not  help  taking  the  measure  of  her  children  in 
some  degree.  She  saw  the  hardness,  the  want  of  eleva- 
tion, the  worldy  shrewdness  of  her  eldest  daughter,  and 
had  done  her  best  to  combat  them.  If  Jane  could  have 
been  infected,  smitten,  with  some  higher  qualities,  no 
doubt  she  would  have  been;  but  you'll  not  teach  a 
drumhead  cabbage  to  shrink  by  putting  it  alongside  a 
sensitive  plant.  Still,  love  made  the  best  of  it.  Jane 
would  be  able  to  stand  her  own  ground.  Mrs.  Gilbert 
had  less  anxiety  about  her  than  about  Mary,  who  was 
shy  and  dreamy,  with  little  force  of  character.  But 
John — she  had  every  reason  to  feel  satisfied  about  him. 
He  had  got  safely  over  the  most  perilous  time,  the  first 
years  of  being  out  from  under  his  father's  roof.  Yes ; 
John's  conduct  and  prospects  were  all  that  could  be 
desired.  She  and  his  father  believed  that,  but  there 
were  people  who  could  have  told  them  otherwise ;  and 
the  wonder  is,  that  some  one  with  a  conscientious  love 
of  carrying  evil  tidings  had  not  made  known  to  them 
that  their  son  was  spending  money  faster  than  he  made 
it.  He  liked  to  do  this,  and  he  did  it ;  but  he  came 
home  every  Saturday  as  innocent  and  as  carelessly  ready 
to  enjoy  himself  as  ever.  He  was  not  bad — not  de- 
praved, that  is;  if  he  had  been  possessed  of  a  sufficient 
private  fortune  he  would  have  acquired  a  good  name, 
for  he  would  have  been  under  no  temptation  to  do 
wrong,  at  least  wrong  of  the  kind  he  fell  into. 

"Are  you  going  out,  Bell  ?  "  Mrs.  Sinclair  asked. 
"  And  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  Miss  Raeburn's.     Will  you  come  ?  " 


QUIXSTAR.  225 

"  Not  to-night,  thank  you.    I  daresay  you  have  fallen 
in  love  with  Miss  Raeburn  ?  " 
"  Long  ago.     I  do  like  her ! " 

o      o 

"  Well,  I  don't  object.  I  don't  think  you'll  get  much 
harm  from  her.  She  often  says  unfortunate  things; 
but  my  influence  is  greater  than  hers  yet,  although  tact 
is  not  quite  a  thing  that  can  be  taught." 

The  shortest  cut  to  Miss  Raeburn's  house  was  past 
Peter  Veitch's  cottage,  and  Bell  took  that  way.  While 
the  sailor  had  been  at  home  she  took  the  other  way  out 
of  deference  to  herself,  for  certainly  no  other  person 
would  have  charged  her  with  passing  his  father's  house 
because  he  was  there;  but  conscience  makes  cowards 
of  us  all.  Now  however  it  was  different;  different 
indeed ! — all  the  difference  between  keen  vivid  interest 
and  blank  dulness ! 

As  she  was  passing  the  door,  Mrs.  Veitch  came  out. 
They  spoke. 

"  And  Maddy's  leaving  ye  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Yeitch. 

"  Leaving  ?    I  never  heard  of  it,"  Bell  said. 

"  She'll  be  ower  blate  to  tell  ye,  likely." 

"Blate!"  said  Bell;  "  what  should  make  her  blate? 
Nonsense  ! " 

"  She's  gaun  to  be  married.  I  wonder  ye  dinna  ken." 

"  She  must  have  been  wooed  by  pi'oxy,  surely.  I 
can't  believe  it." 

"  It  was  made  up  the  time  ye  was  awa'.  It's  the 
gamekeeper — the  man  whose  wife  died  eighteen  months 
syne,  leaving  a  lot  o'  wee  bairns.  I  dinna  think  but 
Maddy'll  mak'  a  gude  stepmother." 

"  First-class !  "   said  Bell,   laughing.     "  I   remember 
she  said  something  one  day  she  no  doubt  intended  for 
a  hint,  but  I  was  dull,  and  did  not  take  it  up. — Provi- 
dence indeed ! "  Bell  said  to  herself. 
10* 


226  QUIXSTAE. 

"I've  just  gotten  a  letter  from  Peter,"  said  Mrs. 
Veitch,  speaking  on  the  theme  nearest  her  heart.  "  His 
ship  is  to  sail  the  morn." 

"  You'll  miss  him  after  having  him  so  long." 

"  Miss !  miss  is  nae  word  for't !  Eh,  Miss  Sinclair, 
be  glad  ye  hae  naething  to  do  wi'  sailors." 

"  It's  to  Melbourne  he's  going,  isn't  it  ?  That's  often 
a  pleasant  voyage',  and  not  dangerous." 

"  Maybe ;  but  it'll  be  a  weary  time  ere  we  see  him 
again,  if  ever." 

"  You  should  not  look  at  the  dark  side,"  said  Bell 
cheerily,  as  they  parted ;  and  Mrs.  Veitch  thought,  "  It's 
easy  speaking.  It  wad  mak'  nae  odds  to  her  if  Peter 
was  at  the  bottom  o'  the  sea ;  but  oh,  the  difference  to  his 
faither  and  me  !  " 

"  Ah,  Tibby,"  said  Miss  Raeburn, "  I'm  always  glad 
to  see  you.  Come  and  tell  me  how  the  world's  using 
you.  You  look  a  little  glum ;  what's  amiss  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  except  original  depravity,  if  I  am  looking 
glum.  The  world  uses  me  too  well ;  that's  the  only  thing 
I  have  to  complain  of." 

"  It  is  not  a  common  complaint." 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  enjoy  my- 
self, and  I  have  done  that  remarkably  well  yet." 

"  Is  there  anything  to  hinder  you  going  on  doing  it  ?  n 

"  Nothing ;  but  I  would  like  to  have  work — some- 
thing to  do." 

. "  Send  away  the  housemaid  and  beat  the  carpets." 

"  That  would  be  turning  her  out  of  a  situation." 

"  But  you  don't  mean  to  stand  idle  till  every  other 
creature  in  the  world  has  got  work,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  can  beat  carpets,  and  I  like  it — it  is  very  exhilara- 
ting; still,  that's  not  the  kind  of  work — " 

"  There  it  is,"  said  Miss  Raeburn.     "  Nowr  Tibby,  I 


QUIXSTAR.  227 

thought  you  had  more  sense  than  join  in  that  stupid  caut 
about  having  nothing  to  do.  If  you  really  can't  get 
anything  to  do,  be  content  to  do  nothing,  and  hold  your 
tongue." 

"  It's  all  very  well  for  you,  Miss  Raeburn,  who  have 
no  care  that  you  want  to  divert—" 

"  And  pray  what  care  have  you  that  you  want  to 
divert  ?  This  is  something  new.  Out  with  it,  Tibby  !  " 

"  It's  nothing  very  great ;  but  I  don't  want  to  think 
too  much  about  it,  and  as  it  concerns  another  person  I 
can't  tell  it." 

"  How  very,  very  mysterious  !  And  you  want  some- 
thing to  drive  dull  care  away?  I  could  give  you  some 
hours'  work  in  my  garden  every  day,  if  that  would  do. 
I'm  going  to  have  Peter  Veitch,  and  you  would  be  un- 
der his  orders,  and  his  conversation  might  divert  your 
thoughts." 

"  He  is  a  good  old  man ! "  said  Bell  warmly. 

"  Excellent  among  the  excellent,"  said  Miss  Raeburn, 
looking  straight  into  her  visitor's  face ;  "  and  you  could 
sympathize  with  him  on  his  son's  departure." 

"  I  couldn't — I  think  he  was  right  to  go.  I  wonder  at 
Tom,  for  instance,  our  Tom — do  you  know  what  he  is 
going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Something  rational,  I  don't  doubt." 

"  The  bank  he  is  in  at  Eastburgh  is  going  to  open  a 
branch  here,  and  they  have  offered  Tom  the  manage- 
ment, and  he  means  to  take  it.  Think  of  it !  at  his  age, 
when  he  might  do  anything  !  Why,  he  might  as  well 
be  a  horse  in  a  mill." 

"I  think  Tom  is  right;  he  is  not  a  dunce.  A. man 
that  can  take  the  correct  measure  of  himself  is  no 
dunce." 

"  Of  course,  Tom  is  not ;   if  he  were  a  duiicc  I  would 


228  QUIXSTAR. 

not  wonder  at  it,  or  if  he  were  compelled  by  circum- 
stances— but  his  own  free  choice  ! " 

"  You  approve  of  Peter  Veitch  going  to  sea ;  that's 
generally  thought  a  monotonous  life  !  " 

"It  can't  be  monotonous  to  a  person  with  any  mind. 
Peter  does  not  find  it  so;  he  told  me  if  he  had  his 
choice  to  make  now,  with  all  the  experience  he  has  had, 
he  would  still  go  to  sea." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  very  glad  that  he  has  not  mis- 
taken his  vocation  ;  still,  I  must  say  I  sympathize  with 
Tom  preferring  Jo  stay  on  dry  land  at  the  kingly  occu- 
pation of  counting  out  his  money,  and  he'll  have  ex- 
ercise for  his  mind  in  dealings  with  his  customers ;  it 
won't  do  to  hand  out  money  to  any  one." 

"  Oh,  he'll  need  to  know  their  circumstances,  whether 
they  have  money,  and  how  much ; — very  interesting  !  " 

"  To  know  these  things  is  very  interesting  to  most 
people  who  are  not  babes  in  the  wood  suffering  from 
mysterious  cares  which  they  cannot  reveal.  I  have 
been  young,  and  now  I  am  old — " 

"  You're  not  old,  Miss  Raeburn." 

"  Oldish,  and  I  think  it  is  well  when  the  average 
shoemaker  sticks  to  his  last ;  he  is  likely  to  do  more  good 
and  less  ill  by  that  than  any  other  course." 

"  Have  you  had  a  visit  from  uncle  ?  " 

"No." 

"  I  thought  you  were  reproducing  his  ideas  in  differ- 
ent words." 

"  Great  minds  jump,"  said  Miss  Raeburn.  "What 
does  your  mamma  think  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  thinks  Tom  is  burying  himself,  but  is 
reconciled  to  it  because  she'll  have  him  beside  her." 

"And  having  him  always  at  home  may  be  the  means 
of  lightening  your  load  of  mysterious  care." 


QUIXSTAR.  229 

"  Ah,  you  may  laugh.  Have  you  ever  known  care, 
Miss  Raeburn  ?  " 

"  Have  I  ever  known  anything  else  ?  Have  you 
never  guessed  ?  But  it  is  a  sad  story — " 

"  Ah,  I  am  sorry  if  I  have  touched  on — you  really 
always  look  so  happy." 

"  Looks !  what  are  looks  ?  When  I  think  of  my  hus- 
band—" 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Bell,  with  a  start,  "  have  you  a  hus- 
band?" 

"  No ;  that's  the  point.  I  ought  to  have  one — there's 
one  born  for  every  woman,  but  he  and  I  have  missed 
each  other,  and  either  he  is  gone,  or  he  is  wandering  in 
lonely  wretchedness,  or  he  is  tied  to  the  wrong  person. 
Conceive  what  I  suffer  sitting  here  in  helpless  ignorance. 
Talk  of  care,  indeed  ! " 

"  And  he  may  be  suffering  as  much  on  your  account," 
said  Bell. 

"  True ;  I  did  not  think  of  that." 

"  I'm  vexed  I  have  suggested  it ;  it  was  very  heed- 
less— " 

The  door-bell  rang.  "  That,"  said  Bell,  "  is  a  man. 
I  saw  him  pass  the  window.  Perhaps  Mr.  Phantom, 
your  husband  ?  " 

"  Not  Mr.  Phantom,  my  husband,  but  Mr.  Raeburn, 
my  brother,"  she  said  as  Mr.  Raeburn  entered. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

IT  was  fine  moonlight,  and  Bell  took  the  round- 
about way  home.  Two  people  in  different  parts  of  the 
world,  both  looking  at  the  moon,  have  in  all  ages  and 
nations  been  supposed  by  this  act  to  have  communion  at 
once  ethereal  and  comforting.  Bell  gazed  at  the  moon, 
and  Peter  Yeitch  gazed  at  it — he  saw  not  only  the  moon 
in  the  heavens,  but  half  a  dozen  moons  floating  about  on 
the  inky  waters  of  the  harbor.  Possibly  five  thousand 
pairs  of  lovers  were  looking  at  the  moon  that  night,  but 
she  carried  no  distinct  messages.  Nature  is  like  a  deaf 
and  dumb  mother  —  she  is  infinitely  tender,  she  will 
soothe  and  comfort,  and  smile  and  weep,  but  she  does 
not  hear,  and  she  cannot  answer.  In  the  midst  of  the 
rude  and  civil  bustle  on  the  ship's  deck  before  departure, 
the  moon  showed  Peter  the  red  tiles  of  his  father's 
cottage,  and  the  gravel  in  front  of  Old  Battle  House 
whitened  by  her  rays,  contrasting  with  the  straight  line 
of  deep  shadow  thrown  across  it  by  the  building,  and 
made  his  heart  glad,  while  she  enveloped  Bell  in  a  happy 
reverie  broken  in  upon  by  a  voice  that  said,  "  Whither 
bound  ?  "  She  started,  but  it  was  only  John  Gilbert. 

"  Homeward  bound,"  she  answered. 

"  You  neither  saw  nor  heard  me  coming,"  he  said. 
"  Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

"I  was  at  Miss  Raeburu's,  and  I  left  when  her 
brother  from  Ironburgh  came." 


QUIXSTAR.  231 

"  Mr.  Raeburn — indeed  !  are  you  sure  ?  " 
"  Quite  sure  ;  is  it  of  any  consequence  ?     I  both  saw 
and  spoke  to  him." 

"  Then  you  are  right.  I  am  on  my  way  to  see  Mrs. 
Gilbert." 

"  Is  it  not  too  late  to  go  in  on  the  old  lady  ?  " 
"  No ;  I'll   be   in  time  for  supper,  and  I  can  make 
myself  useful  conducting  the  orgies." 

"  I  hope  they  are  not  too  bois-terous  ?  " 
"  I  try  not  to  go  to  sleep  at  least.     By  the  bye,  I'll 
give  you  something  ;  I  got  a  bunch  of  them  the  other 
night  from  her,"  he  took  out  his  pocket-book ;  "  I  forgot 
all  about  them." 

"  What  are  they  ?  " 

"  Not  pound-notes,"  he  said,  taking  out  some  slips  of 
paper,  "  it  is  a  copy  of  verses.  Mrs.  Gilbert  has  a  lot 
for  distribution  ;  you'll  see  it's  '  Lines  by  a  Pious  Idiot.' 
Of  course  lines  by  pious  idiots  are  not  scarce,  it  is  the 
artlessness  of  the  confession  I  admire.  Give  one  to 
Effie,  and  here  is  one  for  yourself,  which  you'll  keep  for 
my  sake ;  you  may  as  well  think  of  two  idiots  when 
you  are  about  it." 

"  John,  you  are  a  regardless  mortal,  I  doubt." 
"I'm  glad  you  donibt  it;  but  I  must  tear  myself 
away,  or  Mrs.  G.  will  have  put  on  her  night-cap." 

When  Bell  got  within  the  gates  of  Old  Battle  House 
she  stood  for  a  little,  enjoying  the  stillness  and  the 
moonlight.  As  she  stood  she  heard  a  sound  as  of  sup- 
pressed sobbing  among  the  thick  dark  bushes.  The 
bushes  were  high,  and  she  saw  no  one,  but  wondering 
who  or  what  it  could  be  she  turned  into  a  narrow  foot- 
path and  went  to  the  place  the  sound  seemed  to  come 
from.  She  stood,  and  getting  accustomed  to  the  dark- 
ness a  figure  appeared  leaning  against  a  tree.  She  in- 


232  QUIXSTAR. 

stantly  recognized  her  sister's  dress.  . "  Effie,"  she  said 
in  astonishment, "  is  it  you  ?  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

Effie  sobbed  again. 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  in  the  world  is  it,  Effie  ?  Tell 
me?" 

"  John  Gilbert  is  going  away,"  said  Effie  between 
sobs. 

"  Never  mind  John  Gilbert,  but  tell  me  what  you 
are  crying  about." 

"  I  tell  you  he  is  going  away  to  Van  Diemen's  Land 
or  Australia,  or  some  of  these  places,  and  we  may  never 
see  him  again." 

"  Nonsense  !  I  parted  with  him  only  a  few  minutes 
ago,  and  he  said  nothing  about  it." 

"  He  does  not  wish  it  known." 

"  Not  known !  How  can  he  help  it  being  known  ? 
and  why  did  he  tell  you  if  he  does  not  want  it  known  ? 
I  don't  understand  it." 

"  You  mustn't  tell.  Even  his  mother  is  not  to  know 
till  he  is  off." 

"  What  has  he  done  ?  and  why  does  he  tell  you  only  ?  " 

"  I've  known  him  all  my  life,"  sobbed  Effie ;  "  and — 
and — we  are  engaged." 

"  Engaged  !     To  be  married  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  it  may  be  years  before  he  comes  back — 
if  ever." 

"  Oh,  Effie,  Effie  ! "  said  Bell  in  a  tone  of  profound 
tenderness,  "  I  am  sorry  for  you.  Does  mamma  know  ?  " 

"  No ;  and  you  must  not  tell  her.  I  did  not  intend 
to  tell  you,  but  I  could  not  help  it." 

"  You  have  done  wrong,  Effie,  and  John  Gilbert  has 
done  wrong  hi  getting  your  promise,  and  binding  you 
not  to  tell,  and  he  must  have  some  reason — not  good  I 
doubt — for  going  abroad  in  this  way." 


QUIXSTAR.  233 

"  Right  or  wrong,  I  love  him,"  said  Effle  proudly  and 
passionately,  "  and  you  must  promise  here  to  keep  our 
secret." 

Bell  was  surprised  at  such  force  of  will  in  her  sister, 
who  had  hitherto  appeared  always  glad  to  follow  rather 
than  to  lead.  She  was  eifectually  diverted  from  her  own 
cares  whatever  they  might  be,  but  she  would  not  give 
her  sister  an  unconditional  promise  to  keep  her  secret. 
While  she  was  soothing  and  comforting  Effie,  Miss 
Raeburn  was  saying  to  her  brother — 

"  How  long  are  you  going  to  stay  this  time,  Jamie  ?  " 

"  I  must  be  in  Ironburgh  to-morrow  forenoon." 

"  Then  we'll  hardly  have  time  to  thaw.  Isn't  it  curious 
how  you  and  I  should  need  thawing  when  we  meet  now- 
a-days  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  know  that,  Joan,  but  I'll  break  the  ice 
boldly.  I  came  to  speak  of  John  Gilbert.  Do  you 
know  anything  about  him  ?  " 

"  Do  I  know  about  John  Gilbert  ?     How  know  ?  " 

"  Do  you  see  him  often  ?  Does  he  come  home 
regularly  ?  " 

"  Yes.  What  do  you  mean  ?  He  was  often  at  Loch- 
side  with  the  Sinclairs  in  summer.  They  are  intimate, 
more  so  of  late  than  they  used  to  be.  John  is  clever." 

"  Too  clever,  I  am  afraid." 

"  What  is  it,  Jamie  ?  He  has  not  been  doing  anything 
bad  ?  " 

"  He  has  put  my  name  to  a  bill,  and  got  it  cashed." 

"  Forgery !  "  said  Miss  Raeburn. 

"  Yes ;  that's  the  name  for  it.  I  have  not  denied  my 
signature  yet." 

''•Don't  do  it,"  she  said  earnestly.  "  It  would  kill  his 
mother." 

"  It  is  entirely  on  her  account  I  have  paused.     Even 


234  QUIXSTAR. 

Jane  does  not  know  of  it.  Thank  God  it  is  none  of  my 
sons." 

Miss  Raeburn  was  silent.  She  had  more  personal 
affection  for  John  Gilbert  than  she  had  for  any  of  her 
nephews,  except  the  boy  who  was  drowned,  and  the 
eldest,  who  had  been  much  with  her  as  a  child,  and  with 
whom  she  kept  up  a  close  correspondence  now  that  he 
was  in  India  in  some  civil  capacity.  She  knew  little  of 
the  others,  the  intercourse  between  Ironburgh  and  Quix- 
star  had  grown  more  and  more  slack  as  years  passed.  Mr. 
Gilbert  imagined  he  was  undervalued  by  his  wife's  rela- 
tives, as  well  as  by  the  world  hi  general,  and  this  small 
jealousy  worked  its  natural  effect.  Then  Miss  Raeburn 
did  not  pai'ticularly  affect  her  brother's  wife.  If  blame, 
or  how  much,  attached  to  either  party,  it  cannot  be  known, 
but  so  it  was.  Time  can  bring  this  state  of  matters  about 
in  the  best  regulated  families,  and  whereas  in  early  life 
Mr.  Raeburn  and  his  sister  blended  like  two  drops  of 
quicksilver,  it  had  come  to  pass  that  now,  as  Miss  Rae- 
burn said,  they  needed  a  little  time  to  thaw  when  they  met. 

"  It  will  kill  his  mother,"  repeated  Miss  Raeburn. 

"  I  don't  know,  Joan.  It  is  amazing  what  people 
will  live  through." 

"  But  she  need  not  know.  Take  up  the  bill  as 
genuine." 

"  But  what  dependence  can  you  have  on  him  in 
future  ?  I  think  if  it  had  been  one  of  my  own  sons,  I 
would  have  let  the  law  take  its  course.  It  might  be  bet- 
ter for  him  in  the  end." 

"  That  you  would  not.     Is  the  sum  a  lai'ge  one  ?  " 

"  It  is  quite  large  enough ;  but  I  don't  mind  the  loss 
to  myself.  It  is  the  depravity  of  the  boy." 

"  I  don't  believe  he  can  be  depraved.  He  may  be 
foolish."' 


QUIXSTAR.  235 

"  Don't  defend-  him,  Joan." 

"  But  you'll  not  expose  him  ?  You'll  give  him  another 
chance  for  his  mother's  sake  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  he  calculated  on." 

"But  he  can't  be  hardened.  I  don't  believe  he  is 
hardened.  See  him.  I'll  ask  him  to  come  here  in 
the  morning,  and  you  can  judge  what  had  best  be 
done." 

When  Miss  Raeburn  sent,  inviting  him  to  breakfast, 
John  Gilbert  was  supping  with  Mrs.  Gilbert,  and  ac- 
commodating himself  to  the  lady's  ideas  with  the  same 
facility  with  which  he  suited  himself  to  less  worthy  com- 
pany. 

Mrs.  Gilbert  had  unbounded  faith  in  her  grandnephew. 
She  considered  she  had  had  a  hand  in  his  training,  and 
she  liked  to  look  at  her  handiwork.  He  was  always 
ready  to  manage  any  little  business  matters  for  her,  and 
she  had  much  pleasure  in  a  staff  for  her  old  age,  which 
was  at  once  useful  and  ornamental.  On  this  night  he  told 
her  that  he  had  been  distributing  the  "  Lines  "  she  had 
given  him,  and  she  said  he  would  never  regret  being  so 
well  employed.  He  waited  kindly  on  his  old  friend, 
for  he  really  liked  her,  and  he  had  a  pleasure  in  doing  it. 
No ;  he  was  not  depraved,  but  he  was  very  easy-going. 
Before  he  left  he  asked  his  aunt  for  a  loan,  not  quite  an 
insignificant  one,  and  she  gave  it  without  an  instant's 
hesitation.  His  conscience  ^mote  him,  but  the  pang  was 
momentary.  He  would  repay  her  shortly,  without  doubt ; 
as  for  his  uncle  Raeburn,  he  would  never  miss  the  mon- 
ey. It  was  merely  a  loan  without  his  knowledge,  and 
before  long  he  would  speedily  repay  it  too.  When  he 
went  home  and  heard  of  Miss  Raeburn's  invitation,  it  did 
not  give  him  unmixed  enjoyment,  it  confirmed  him  in 
the  plan  he  had  been  maturing  for  some  time*,  but  he 


236  QUIXSTAH. 

said,  "  Well,  I'll  see.  If  I'm  not  lazy  in  the  morning  I 
may  go." 

"  In  the  morning,  Mrs.  Gilbert  not  hearing  her  son 
moving,  knocked  at  his  door,  and  getting  no  answer  went 
in,  but  he  was  not  there.  "  He  has  not  been  lazy,"  she 
thought;  "  I  wonder  I  did  not  hear  him  go  out."  None 
of  them  had  seen  or  heard  him  go  out,  but  it  was  con- 
cluded he  had  gone  to  Miss  Raeburn's,  and  without 
further  remark  they  had  breakfast,  and  Mr.  Gilbert  went 
away  to  his  labor  of  teaching  his  part  of  that  large 
section  of  humanity  which,  being  shut  into  schools  day 
by  day  for  long  hours,  wonders  how  the  rest  of  mankind 
spends  its  continual  holiday  ;  when  a  message  came  from 
Miss  Raeburn  to  say  that if  If  Mr.  John  could  not  come 
to  breakfast,  would  he  come  up  for  a  few  minutes 
after  ?  " 

"  What  can  have  become  of  him  ?  "  said  Mary.  "  It 
makes  me  think  of  the  morning  James  Raeburn  was 
drowned/' 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Jane.  "  He  has  remembered  some- 
thing he  wanted  to  do  in  Eastburgh  early,  and  has  gone 
off  without  thinking.  At  all  events,  he  is  quite  able  to 
take  care  of  himself." 

Jane  was  of  opinion  that  most  people  were  quite  able 
to  take  care  of  themselves. 

Mrs.  Gilbert  was  surprised,  but  not  anxious.  She 
had  confidence  in  her  son,  and  that  does  not  shake  and 
fall  at  once.  In  truth,  she  had  no  misgiving.  Tom  Sin- 
clair came  in  for  a  minute  as  he  passed  the  door  on  his 
way  to  the  station,  and  undertook  to  make  John  send 
an  account  of  himself  whenever  he  reached  Eastburgh. 

Tom  had  his  suspicions,  which  were  verified  when, 
on  reaching  Eastburgh,  John  Gilbert  was  non  est  inven- 
tus.  He  was  angry ;  "  He  has  not  taken  my  advice,"  he 


QTJIXSTAR.  237 

thought, "  and  he  must  stand  the  consequences.  Well, 
I  did  not  undertake  to  tell  his  mother  if  I  got  him ;  I 
only  undertook  to  make  him  report  himself.  They'll 
hear  of  it  soon  enough,"  and  Tom  went  about  his  usual 
business  not  greatly  ruffled. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

As  there  is  a  pause  in  nature  before  the  crash  of  a 
storm,  so  a  stillness  came  over  the  schoolmaster's  dwell- 
ing, waiting  for  what  might  be  dreaded  as  evil  tidings. 
John's  absence  without  explanation  was  so  unaccount- 
able. They  did  not  send  here  and  there  inquiring  for 
him — they  waited.  When  Mr.  Raeburn  made  a  brief 
call,  there  was  no  particular  allusion  made  to  John's 
absence ;  and  he  went  home,  paid  for,  and  concealed 
his  nephew's  guilt.  The  Gilberts  kept  quiet — that  was 
not  what  Mr.  Gilbert  would  have  done, — he  was  not  self- 
contained  naturally ;  he  would  have  asked  everywhere 
if  any  one  had  seen  his  son ;  he  would  have  given  up 
his  school  for  the  time,  and  perhaps,  taken  to  bed  with 
grief,  but  his  wife's  strength  of  mind  came  to  his  help. 
"  Why  compromise  John  in  the  eyes  of  the  public  ?  " 
she  said  ;  and  he  was  persuaded  to  go  on  as  usual.  More- 
over, Jane's  constant  iteration  that  Jack  could  take  care 
of  himself  had  its  effect  on  her  father.  It  also  had  its 
effect  on  her  mother  :  she  shrank  from  it — it  was  a 
coarse  view  of  the  case. 

Whether  John's  absence  was  the  result  of  thought- 
lessness merely,  or  folly,  or  something  darker,  he  had  no 
idea  of  the  suffering  he  caused,  as  day  after  day  went 
past  till  nearly  a  week  was  gone,  and  nothing  was  heard 
of  him. 

Mrs.  Gilbert  was  sitting  alone  one  evening  brooding 


QUIXSTAR.  239 

over  the  subject.  The  tide  of  love  for  her  son  swelled 
within  her — her  thoughts  hunted  round  him  and  round 
him  ;  and  feeling  the  terrible  strain,  she  had  said  to  her- 
self, "  How  cruel  he  is  !  how  cruel ! "  at  the  same  time 
shrinking  from  her  own  words,  when  suddenly  Erne 
Sinclair  slipped  into  the  room  and  said  abruptly — 

"  Have  you  not  heard  yet  from  John,  Mrs.  Gilbert  ? 
You  should  have  heard  by  this  time.  He  was  to  write 
before  he  sailed." 

"  Sailed ! "  said  Mrs.  Gilbert. 

"  Yes.  Oh,  he  did  not  want  it  known,  but  he  told 
me.  He  was  to  write,  and  I  have  not  heard  yet." 

An  incontrollable  pang  shot  through  Mrs.  Gilbert, 
and  the  blood  rushed  to  her  face.  He  had  told  this 
girl,  and  left  her — his  mother — in  ignorance  and  an- 
guish ! 

"  He  was  to  write  to  me  to  the  post-office  in  East- 
burgh,  and  I  have  been  there  to-day  and  there  is  no 
letter;  and  I  am  so  anxious — so  anxious,"  pursued 
Effie.  "I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you — my  own  mamma 
doesn't  know ;  but  I  thought  you  would  have  heard 
from  him,  and  I  am  so  anxious." 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Gilbert  was  seeking  excuses  for 
her  son,  and  Effie's  eyes  and  her  blushing  face  pleaded 
for  her. 

"  Effie,"  said  she,  almost  trembling  as  she  spoke,  "  do 
you  know  why  he  went  ?  Has  he  done  anything  wrong  ?  " 

"  No,  oh  dear  no  !  He  said  he  would  get  on  better 
in  the  colonies ;  that  was  all." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  saw  that  was  all  Effie  knew.  If  only 
she  could  be  sure  that  was  all ! 

"  And  where  has  he  gone  ?  " 

"To  Australia;  be  wasn't  sure  what  part.  Are  you 
angry  at  him  going  away  without  telling,  Mrs.  Gilbert  ?  " 


240  QUIXSTAR. 

"  I  am  grieved — grieved  in  a  way  you  can't  under- 
stand." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  had  known  Effie  all  her  life :  that  she 
should  ask  if  she  was  angry  at  her  son  going  away  as  he 
had  done  was  quite  the  kind  of  question  she  would  have 
expected  her  to  put.  But  there  are  times  when  any 
kind  of  human  sympathy  seems  very  poor  and  inadequate. 

While  Effie  sat,  the  postman  came  to  the  door.  She 
ran  for  the  letter^John's  writing  was  on  the  back  of  it — 
it  was  to  his  mother.  Mrs.  Gilbert  opened  it  and  read — 

"  DEAR  MOTHER, — I  sail  to-day  for  Melbourne.  I 
did  not  tell  you,  for  if  I  had,  neither  you  nor  my  father 
would  have  let  me  go.  Now,  a  man  has  a  far  better 
chance  of  getting  on  in  a  new  country  than  in  our  old 
crowded  island.  I  hope  you  have  not  been  uneasy.  I 
mean  to  come  home  before  long  with  a  fortune.  My 
love  to  you  all. — I  am  your  affectionate  son, 

"  JOHX  GILBERT. 

"F.iS. — Write  to  the  post-office  at  Melbourne;  I'll 
call  there  when  I  land." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  held  the  note  in  her  hand  like  one  in  a 
dream.  Was  this  her  son,  her  very  son  in  whom  her 
life  was  almost  bound  up "?  He  hoped  she  had  not  been 
uneasy ! 

Effie  started  up. 

"  My  letter  will  be  in  Eastburgh.  I'll  go  for  it  the 
first  thing  to-morrow,"  she  exclaimed.  "  You'll  keep  our 
secret,  Mrs.  Gilbert  ?  I  only  told  it  through  stress  of 
anxiety.  You'll  keep  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Gilbert  said,  hardly  knowing  what  she 
was  saying. 

"  Good-bye,"  cried  Effie ;  and  she  went  as  abruptly 
as  she  had  come. 


QUIXSTAR.  241 

The  first  member  of  the  family  to  come  in  was  Jane. 
Mrs.  Gilbert  was  sitting,  still  with  the  note  in  her  hand. 
She  was  not  thinking,  she  could  not  think,  she  was  hard- 
ly feeling,  she  was  almost  beyond  that  with  this  thing 
that  had  come  upon  her. 

"  From  John  ! "  Jane  cried,  seizing  the  letter.  After 
she  had  read  it,  she  sat  a  moment  without  speaking,  then 
she  said  slowly,  "  He  is  more  foolish  than  I  thought  him, 
if  he  has  gone  in  this  way  from  no  cause ;  yet  I  think  if 
there  had  been  anything  wrong,  anything  to  make  us 
ashamed  and  affronted,  we  would  have  heard  of  it  by 
this  time." 

"  Jane ! "  Mrs.  Gilbert  said,  in  a  tone  which  meant, 
"  Have  pity." 

"  It  is  true,  mamma.  It  is  a  great  trial,  but  it  might 
have  been  worse.  Plenty  of  people  go  to  Australia. 
He  is  likely  enough  to  get  on." 

When  Mary  read  John's  short  farewell  she  bui-st 
into  tears. 

"  It's  a  relief  to  hear  of  him ;  but  oh,  why  has  he  left 
us  ?  Surely  he  does  not  know  how  we  love  him  ?  " 

"  No,  Mary,"  her  mother  said ;  "  I  think  he  does  not." 

Mrs.  Gilbert's  voice  sounded  dry  and  hollow. 

"  Mary,"  Mr.  Gilbert  said,  coming  beside  his  wife's 
chair  when  their  daughters  had  left  the  room ;  "  I  al- 
ways thought  your  son  would  do  something  for  you.  I 
have  never  been  able  to  do  much,  but — "  here  his  voice 
faltered,  and  he  left  her  abruptly,  and  for  an  hour  walked 
up  and  down  the  garden. 

"  There's  papa  walking,"  said  Jane  to  her  sister, 
looking  from  their  bedroom  window ;  "  to  look  at  him 
just  now  one  would  not  think  he  wanted  energy." 

"  And  does  he?"  asked  Mary." 

"  I  daresay  you  know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  I  love 
11 


242  QUIXSTAR. 

papa,  but  one  can't  be  blind  to  facts.  Would  he  ever 
have  dozed  on  here  all  his  life  if  he  had  been  ener- 
getic?" 

"  I  never  thought  of  it,"  said  Hary. 

"  But  I  have.  Papa  is  a  very  good  man,  but  he  has 
done  little  or  nothing  for  his  family,  beyond  keeping 
them  alive.  Jack  is  different ;  he  may  do  well,  or  he 
may  not ;  he  has  the  energy,  and  he  is  clever,  but  he 
wants  balance.  I  would  not  like  to  be  tied  to  his 
chariot-wheels ;  one  would  never  know  what  to  expect. 
Papa  and  mamma  are  surprised  at  him  going  off;  I 
am  not,  although  I  would  never  have  expected  him  to 
do  it  in  such  a  foolish  way." 

"  You  don't  surely  think  yourself  wiser  than  papa 
and  mamma,  Jane  ?  " 

"  No,  not  wiser ;  but  I  have  a  faculty  of  seeing 
things  as  they  are ;  they  haven't.  Many  people  live  in 
a  delusion  from  first  to  last,  especially  about  themselves 
and  their  friends." 

"  I  think,"  said  Mary,  "  I  would  prefer  living  in  a 
delusion.  If  any  amount  of  wisdom  or  sense  could 
make  me  see  mamma  as  a  mere  ordinaiy  woman,  I 
would  not  have  it  at  any  price." 

"  I  was  not  speaking  of  mamma ;  but  I  say  while  we 
are  in  this  world,  we  can't  afford  to  shut  our  eyes  to  facts ; 
we  can't  believe  we  have  been  living  in  ease  and  luxury 
when  we  have  had  the  utmost  difficulty  to  make  ends 
meet.  You  must  know  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  it ;  but  I  have  never  felt  it." 

"  But  I  have,  and  it's  galling  and  tiresome.  Look 
at  the  Sinclairs  and  Raeburns,  and  even  the  Smiths — 
although  I  don't  envy  the  Smiths,  I  like  to  feel  secure, 
— all  rolling  in  money ;  it  makes  a  wonderful  difference." 

Perhaps  if  Mrs.  Gilbert  had  heard  this  conversation 


QUIXSTAR.  243 

it  would  have  pained  her  as  much,  if  not  more,  than  her 
son's  unforeseen  flight.  Her  family  life,  happy  as  she 
esteemed  it,  noble  as  it  really  was,  reduced  to  the 
measure  of  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence,  and  by  her  own 
daughter ! 

Perhaps  the  most  touching  thing  in  all  the  history 
of  cruelty  is  the  story  of  the  woman  who  was  accused 
of  witchcraft,  and  whose  husband  and  children  gave 
evidence  against  her.  She  denied  the  crime  to  the  last, 
but  said  "  Let  me  die.  Since  my  husband  and  my  chil- 
dren believe  me  guilty.  I  have  no  wish  to  live."  To  such 
a  woman  as  Mrs.  Gilbert,  the  bitterness  of  being  disap- 
pointed in  her  children  could  not  be  much  short  of  the 
bitterness  of  death.  She  sat  still  in  her  parlor-window, 
the  place  where  for  so  many  years  she  had  sewed  and 
worked  for  them,  and  determined  to  lock  all  her  grief 
and  anxiety  up  in  her  own  mind,  to  throw  her  care  on 
God  and  not  to  darken  her  dwelling  with  it,  and  she 
did  it ;  and  Mr.  Gilbert,  who  leaned  on  his  wife  with  all 
his  might  although  he  did  not  know  it,  seeing  her  cheer- 
ful as  usual,  began  to  think  that  it  was  not  such  a  calam- 
ity after  all,  John  having  betaken  himself  to  a  new 
country — that  it  might  turn  out  to  have  been  for  the 
best, — in  truth,  the  very  high-road  to  fortune. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THE  sudden  flight  of  the  schoolmaster's  good  looking 
son  did  not  pass  without  remark ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was 
the  subject  of  much  comment  of  a  nature  readily  im- 
agined. 

Next  to  his  own  family  and  his  old  aunt,  the  person 
who  put  most  heart  into  the  interest  she  took  in  it  was 
Miss  Raeburn.  She  wrote  a  letter  to  meet  him  on  land- 
ing, telling  him  what  his  uncle  Raeburn  had  done ;  how 
no  one  but  he  and  herself  knew  of  the  matter,  and 
beseeching  him  to  act  wisely  in  the  future.  "  You  should 
do  this  from  the  highest  motive,  John,"  she  wrote; 
"  but  surely  you  will  do  it  for  your  mother's  sake ;  don't 
make  her  suffer  more  than  you  have  done  already. 
There  are  not  very  many  people  in  the  world  to  whom 
I  look  up,  but  positively  I  am  never  beside  your  mother 
without  feeling  little;  she  seems  to  live  iu  i  purer 
atmosphere  than  other  people ;  all  the  small  spites  and 
jealousies  and  worldliness  that  abound  seem  smaller  and 
more  hateful  in  her  presence ;  don't  wound  such  a  nature, 
for  the  wound  will  be  terrible,  I  warn  you." 

His  father  and  his  mother,  his  sisters  and  Effie  Sin- 
clair, all  wrote  to  welcome  the  voyager  on  his  arrival, 
such  was  the  profusion  of  love  thrown  at  his  feet,  and 
the  boy  did  not  know  how  to  value  it. 

Miss  Raeburn  was  mistaken  in  thinking  that  the 
secret  of  John's  flight  lay  between  her  brother  and  her- 


QUIXSTAR.  245 

self.  One  of  the  clerks  in  the  bank,  an  amateur  "  expert," 
had  detected,  or  thought  he  detected,  the  forgery,  and 
he  was  not  to  be  done  out  of  his  conviction  because  the 
bill  was  paid  as  genuine  and  passed  into  oblivion.  He, 
the  clerk,  was  ultimate  with  one  of  the  Smith  youug  men, 
and  mentioned  it  to  him,  the  Smith  young  man  mention- 
ed it  to  his  mother,  and  his  mother  mentioned  it  to  Mrs. 
Sinclair,  and  in  this  fashion  the  story  was  propagated 
and  whispered  about. 

Mrs.  Sinclair  did  not  regret  John  Gilbert's  depart- 
ure herself;  no  doubt  he  was  very  good-looking  and 
clever,  but  he  was  only  the  schoolmaster's  son,  and, 
what  was  a  great  deal  worse,  penniless.  But  that  did 
not  prevent  her  sympathizing  with  his'family ;  and  as  she 
believed  they  would  never  be  much  the  better  of  John, 
she  thought  one  or  both  of  the  girls  ought  to  be  doing 
something,  and  the  sooner  the  better ;  so  having  heard 
of  a  family  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  wanting  a  gov- 
erness, she  thought  she  would  call  and  oifer  the  post  to 
Jane  Gilbert. 

Happily  she  found  Jane  in  and  alone. 

"  I  am  sorry  Mrs.  Gilbert  is.  not  in,"  said  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  too,  and  mamma  will  be  vexed  at 
missing  you ;  we  are  always  so  glad  to  see  you." 

Now  Jane  was  not  a  hypocrite ;  she  was  always  glad 
to  see  Mrs.  Sinclair  or  any  of  the  Sinclairs  at  this  time. 

"  I  wished  to  see  your  mamma,  to  sympathize  with 
her  on  her  loss.  How  you  must  all  have  felt  Mr.  Rae- 
b urn's  kindness  !  " 

"  Mr.  Raeburn's  kindness  ?  "  said  Jane. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair,  who  never  for  a  moment 
doubted  that  the  Gilberts  knew  the  whole  circumstances, 
or  perhaps  even  she  would  hardly  have  introduced  the 


246  QUIXSTAR. 

subject  to  them.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  "  in  paying  the  money 
and  saying  nothing  about  it  —  giving  him  another 
chance." 

Jane  felt  her  face  burn — she  had  always  suspected 
something ;  but  she  was  equal  to  the  moment. 

"I  think  you  must  be  under  some  mistake,  dear 
Mrs.  Sinclair ;  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  uncle  Raeburn  did 
nothing." 

"Mistake!"  cried  Mrs.  Sinclair,  "there  can  be  no 
mistake ;  I  had  it  almost  directly  from  the  bank-clerk 
who  detected  the  forgery." 

"  Forgery !  Oh,  Mrs.  Sinclair,  you  are  most  complete- 
ly mistaken — forgery  !  " 

If  Jane  had  felt  sure  of  her  ground,  sure  that  she 
could  refute  the  charge  triumphantly,  she  would  have 
said  a  great  deal;  but  she  was  not  sure,  it  tallied  with 
her  own  suspicions,  and  she  dared  say  nothing  more, 
and  still  her  face  burned  and  her  heart  beat. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair  good-naturedly,  "  if 
it  is  a  mistake,  so  much  the  better. — I  came  with  a 
message  for  you  particularly." 

"  A  message  to  her — from  whom  ?  "  Was  the  shame 
of  John's  doings  to  blight  and  change  her  own  lot  ?  So 
Jane  hurriedly  thought,  and  sickened  at  the  possi- 
bility. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  a  message ;  I  have  been  thinking,  as 
you  can't  look  to  your  brother  now,  and  will  have  little 
or  nothing  in  event  of  anything  happening  to  your 
father  (Jane  must  have  enjoyed  this,  it  was  not  shutting 
her  eyes  to  facts),  that  it  would  be  well  for  you  to  begin  to 
do  something  for  yourself.  We'll  hope  your  father  has 
many  years  to  live,  but  an  elderly  woman  turned  out 
on  the  world  can  hardly  find  a  place,  and  I  don't  wonder 
— so  now  is  the  time  for  you  to  try  to  make  a  little 


QUIXSTAR.  247 

money ;  and,  as  I  heard  of  a  situation  I  could  get  for  you, 
I  thought  I  would  let  you  know." 

During  this  speech  Jane  had  gathered  her  senses 
and  regained  confidence. 

"  You  are  exceedingly  kind,  Mrs.  Sinclair,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  don't  mention  it ;  I  delight  in  doing  anything 
to  oblige ;  I  thought  of  you,  but  the  situation  would  suit 
either  you  or  Mary,  you  could  settle  which  yourselves." 

"  We  are  certainly  greatly  obliged." 

"  Don't  speak  of  it ;  you  can  think  over  it,  and  let 
me  know  to-morrow  perhaps." 

"  Well,"  said  Jane,  "  I  don't  think  mamma  could 
want  Mary — " 

"  Oh,  I'm  sure  you  are  as  dear  to  her  as  Mary ;  but 
your  mamma  will  see  it  to  be  for  good  to  one  of  you." 

"  Yes,  oh  yes ;  mamma  will  feel  very  grateful,  but — " 

"  There  need  be  no  buts ;  we'll  say  it's  a  settled 
thing  that  one  of  you  go ;  it's  only  to  the  cape — a  very 
nice  climate,  I  believe." 

"  Mamma  could  not  do  without  one  of  us — " 

"  Well,  it  would  be  a  trial  tjf  course,  but  it  might  be 
a  good  thing  for  you  both  to  take  situations ;  mean- 
time—" 

"I  did  not  intend  to  make  it  public  just  yet,  but 
since  you  are  so  very  kind  I  think  I  must  tell  you  that 
I  am  engaged  to  be  married." 

"  Married  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  may  I  ask  who  is  the  happy  man  ?  Do  I  know 
him  ?  " 

"  No,  you  must  not  ask ;  I'll  leave  some  other  person 
to  tell  you  that." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  haven't  an  idea ;  gentlemen  are 
rather  scarce  hereabout,  but  I  wish  you  much  happi- 


248  QUIXSTAR. 

ness.  I'll  set  the  girls  to  sew  you  a  cushion.  May  I  ask 
if  he  is  in  a  good  position  ?  It's  not  curiosity,  Jane,  it's 
real  interest  in  your  welfare." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jane,  "  he  is  in  a  very  good  position  ;  I 
have  nothing  to  wish  for." 

"  You  are  not  going  far  away,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  ;  not  very  far." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that.  It  will  cheer  your  father 
and  mother,  and  they  need  something  to  cheer  them 
after  this  sad  affair  of  John's." 

"  We  would  have  preferred  having  him  at  home," 
said  Jane ;  "  but  there  was  nothing  sad  about  his  going 
away ;  we  are  all  very  hopeful." 

"  This  will  be  news  for  the  girls,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair,  as 
she  parted  with  Jane.  "  They'll  soon  guess ;  they  are 
better  at  guessing  than  I  am." 

"  What  a  mercy,"  thought  Jane  when  she  was  alone, 
"  that  there  was  nobody  in  but  me ;  she'll  surely  never 
overhaul  John  to  papa  or  mamma.  I  don't  doubt  she 
is  right,  but  111  keep  it  to  myself;  somehow  I  can  bear 
things  better  than  the  others ;  I  hope  they'll  never  hear 
of  this." 

And  they  never  did;  that  was  one  terrible  grief 
spared  them  by  a  special  providence,  if  we  can  call  one 
providence  more  special  than  another. 

It  took  Mrs.  Sinclair  only  five  minutes  to  Avalk  home, 
but  in  that  space  of  time  she  had  every  unmarried  man 
she  knew  of  within  a  radius  of  a  dozen  miles  up  in  re- 
view before  her.  If  Jane  had  not  said  he  was  in  such  a 
good  position  that  she  had  nothing  to  wish  for,  it  would 
have  been  comparatively  easy  to  fix  on  one.  If  she  had 
only  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  ask  if  he  were  old  or 
young  !  When  she  said  the  word  "  old,"  the  idea  of  Mr. 
Sinclair  suddenly  flashed  on  her.  "  Can  it  possibly  be 


QUIXSTAR.  249 

Adam  ?  "  she  thought.  "  It  is  possible,  but  not  likely. 
He  can  feel  no  want  of  company ;  and  when  a  man  gets 
into  a  set  of  habits  he  does  not  care  for  being  put  out  of 
them,  and  Jane  has  no  attractions  to  distinguish  her  from 
the  common  herd  of  girls.  No ;  I  am  fairly  at  a  loss." 

When  dinner  was  nearly  over,  she  said,  "  Now,  I  have 
a  piece  of  news  for  you,  which  is  new  and  true.  I  saw 
Jane  Gilbert  to-day,  and  she  told  me  she  is  going  to  be 
married." 

Mrs.  Sinclair  kept  her  eye  carefully  on  her  brother- 
in-law  as  she  made  this  announcement,  but  to  all  appear- 
ance he  was  completely  unmoved.  Observing  her  look 
at  him,  he  said,  "  Is  that  so  very  astonishing  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  know,"  she  said,  "  Jane  is  not  good-look- 
ing, and  she  has  no  money,  and  she  has  a  brother  who  is 
no  credit  to  her,  by  all  accounts." 

"  Perhaps  she  is  a  fortune  in  herself,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  Mary  would  have  been  my  choice,"  said  Bell ;  "  but 
Jane  will  be  a  good  wife.  I  hope  the  man  is  good,  who- 
ever he  is." 

"  She  said  he  was  in  a  good  position,  and  not  far  away. 
Can't  you  think  who  he  is  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

"  I  can't  guess,"  said  Bell.  "  He  may  be  in  Ironburgh ; 
that's  not  far  away,  compared  with  Australia." 

"  Oh,  but  I  understood  he  was  in  the  neighborhood. 
— Can't  you  help  us,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Tom  must  be  chock-full  of  electricity  on  such  a 
subject,  but  he  holds  it  finely  in  abeyance,"  said  Bell. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Tom,  "  why  women  are  always 
so  interested  and  make  such  an  ado  about  a  marriage 
— men  would  be  glad  to  get  the  thing  done  as  quietly 
as  possible.  But  no ;  from  the  first  blush  of  it  till  it  is 
fairly  over,  a  hullabaloo  must  be  kept  up,  or  women 
wouldn't  think  it  a  marriage,  I  suppose." 
11* 


250  QUIXSTAR. 

"  Tom,"  said  Bell,  "  you  could  do  as  Mr.  Drysdale  the 
baker  here  did,  who  married  his  housekeeper.  When 
told  the  minister  was  come,  he  put  off  his  apron,  went 
up  stairs  for  a  little,  was  married,  came  down  and  put 
on  his  apron  again,  and  went  about  his  business." 

"Well,  that  was  rational,"  said  Tom.  "He  must 
have  had  a  sensible  woman  to  deal  with.  For  my  part, 
I  hate  an  uproar  at  a  wedding." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  Tom,"  Bell  said,  "  but  the  cus- 
tom of  all  times  and  nations  is  against  us,  so  I  doubt  we 
must  be  in  the  wrong.  At  least,  two  people  can  hardly 
set  up  against  the  voice  of  the  whole  race." 

When  Mr.  Sinclair  went  away  as  usual  Mrs.  Sinclair 
said — 

"  I  don't  doubt  your  uncle  thinks  me  silly  in  being  so 
taken  up  about  Jane  Gilbert's  marriage,  but  I  would 
really  like  to  know  who  the  bridegroom-elect  is.  I  have 
a  great  curiosity." 

"  Well,  mother,"  said  Tom,  "  you  may  soon  know 
that,  for  I  am  in  a  position  to  tell  you.  I  am  going  to 
marry  Jane  Gilbert. — I'm  going  out;  I'll  not  be  back 
for  two  hours;  get  familiar  with  the  idea,  and  have 
the  talking  over  in  that  time,  will  you,  and  oblige  me  ?  " 

Having  thus  thrown  his  shell  on  the  carpet,  Tom 
retired,  not  waiting  for  the  explosion — thereby  showing 
his  wisdom. 

It  did  not  seem  as  if  the  talking  were  to  be  done  im- 
mediately, for  the  three  ladies  sat  in  blank  silence,  struck 
dumb  with  surprise.  Whom  the  gods  mean  to  destroy 
they  first  blind.  Poor  Mrs.  Sinclair  felt  this  in  her  in- 
most soul — she  had  been  blind  indeed ;  but  any  one,  she 
argued,  would  have  been  blind.  Tom  had  known  the 
Gilbert  girls  all  his  life  almost,  and  it  is  rarely  that  the 
familiar  strikes.  Then,  according  to  her  taste,  they  had 


QUIXSTAR.  251 

positively  no  attractions,  yet — yet  this  thing  had  come 
upon  her,  and  she  knew  she  could  not  set  her  foot  on  it 
so  triumphantly  as  she  had  done  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Dou- 
bleday.  If  Tom  had  a  quality,  it  was  sticking  to  his 
point. 

Effie  was  the  first  to  speak.  "  I'm  glad  of  it,"  she 
said.  "  I  like  the  Gilberts.'1 

"  Liking  them  is  one  thing  and  marrying  them  is 
another.  The  daughter  of  a  country  schoolmaster,  and 
the  sister  of  a  man  who  has  had  to  flee  for  forgery  !  " 
said  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

Effie  turned  from  white  to  red,  and  back  to  white 
again. 

"  Even  if  that  is  true,  mamma — "  Bell  began. 

"It  is  true, to  my  certain  knowledge;  though  Jane 
Gilbert  pretended  she  never  heard  of  it,  and  denied  it 
stoutly.  There  is  more  in  that  girl  than  I  thought." 

"  You  know,  mamma,"  said  Bell,  "  you'll  never 
change  Tom's  determination." 

"  I  was  infatuated  to  take  them  to  Lochside  with  us 
— not  that  I  wanted  them,  but  you  and  Effie  would  have 
it.  See  what's  come  of  it ;  and  he  might  have  had  the 
pick  of  the  young  ladies  of  the  county !  " 

"  Hardly,  mamma,"  said  Bell ;  "  Tom  is  good  and 
true,  and  all  that,  but  he  is  not  attractive.  If  I  were 
not  his  sister,  he  is  a  man  I  would  never  wish  to  speak 
to  twice.  I  am  sure  Jane  will  be  a  very  good  wife ;  but 
at  any  rate  it  is  a  thing  we  can't  help,  and  we  must  make 
the  best  of  it." 

"  I  must  say,  Bell,  you  are  cool.  I'll  get  sympathy 
from  you,  at  least,  Effie.  There's  one  thing  Tom  will 
find  out  in  time,  that  he-'11  ^et  the  whole  family  to  keep. 
I  have  no  idea  that  John  will  ever  come  to  any  good — 
he'll  just  go  from  bad  to  worse,  and  that'll  be  seen." 


252  QUIXSTAR. 

"  Don't,  mamma !  don't  say  that !  I  can't  bear  it ! " 
cried  Effie,  and  she  ran  from  the  room. 

"  She  is  very  sensitive,"  said  her  mother.  "  She  had 
always  very  fine  feelings.  She  feels  it  more  than  his 
own  sister ;  Jane  braved  it  out  very  coolly,  I  must 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

IF  Mrs.  Sinclair  could  have  despatched  Jane  Gilbert 
to  a  distance  as  easily  as  she  did  Mr.  Doubleday,  she 
would  not  have  been  very  long  about  it,  but  like  every 
other  person  in  this  world  she  had  to  submit  to  the  in- 
evitable, and  when  the  time  came  she  did  it  with  what 
grace  she  might.  She  was  too  good-natured,  and  had 
too  little  real  strength  of  character  to  stand  out  when 
her  daughters  were  pleased  and  her  son  determined. 

No  one  supposed  but  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gilbert 
must  rejoice  in  such  a  match  for  their  daughter.  Mr. 
Gilbert  did.  It  pleased  his  vanity  immensjely,  not  to 
say  that  it  relieved  his  anxiety  as  to  the  future  and  pro- 
moted Jane's  happiness,  but  Mrs.  Gilbert  had  not  such 
unmingled  satisfaction.  No  doubt  Tom  was  a  perfectly 
respectable  man,  but  she  knew  him  to  be  hard  and  self- 
ish, and  she  feared  that  Jane  and  he  would  agree  only 
too  well,  whereas  under  different  influences  Jane  might 
have  been  improved  and  elevated;  but  like  the  other 
mother  she  had  to  submit  to  the  inevitable.  So  Jane 
and  Tom  were  married,  and  lived  in  a  fine  house  on 
the  outskirts  of  Quixstar,  called,  by  the  taste  of  its  mis- 
tress, St.  Hilda's  Lodge. 

When  John  Gilbert  arrived  at  Melbourne  he  posted 
a  newspaper  to  his  mother,  and  that  was  the  sole  notice 
that  came  to  Quixstar  for  many  a  day  to  show  that  he 
was  in  existence.  The  Spanish  Inquisition  in  its  moments 
of  profoundest  thought  and  ingenuity  never  inflicted 


254  QUIXSTAR. 

keener  torture  than  John  Gilbert  did  in  pure  thought- 
lessness, and  there  have  been  and  are  many  John  Gil- 
berts. 

Then  came  a  letter — a  long  letter,  written  jointly  to 
his  father  and  mother — nearly  filled  with  details  of 
people  he  had  met,  whose  name  was  legion,  of  all  whom, 
if  they  did  not  know  him,  knew  some  one  he  knew  or  was 
connected  with — his  father,  his  uncles,  his  grandfathers. 
It  seemed  as  if  you  only  had  to  go  to  the  antipodes  to 
fall  into  not  merely  a  centre,  but  a  circumference,  of 
interested  friends.  Very  likely  there  were  Ephraim 
Jenkinsons  among  the  multitude,  but  as  Mrs.  Tom 
Sinclair  justly  remarked,  "  John  took  nothing  with  him, 
so  he  could  hardly  be  fleeced."  She  thought  of  the  pos- 
sible stealing  of  his  purse,  while  his  mother  thought  of 
the  possible  contamination  of  his  nature.  Not  a  word 
did  he  say  of  what  he  had  been  doing,  was  doing,  or 
meant  to  do, — how  he  liked  the  place,  whether  he  was 
in  comfort,  or  discomfort ;  not  a  word.  Effie  got  no 
letter  from  him.  His  mother  gave  her  this  one  to  read, 
and  she  was  not  even  named  in  it. 

And  in  all  this  time  Peter  Veitch  had  never  been 
home.  His  ship  had  been  twice  in  London,  but  he  had 
not  had  time  to  visit  Quixstar. 

"  Time ! "  said  Mrs.  Sinclair  when  she  heard  of  it. 
"  Where  there  is  a  will  there  is  a  way.  That  lad  is 
forgetting  his  duty  to  his  parents,  but  it  will  let  your 
uncle  see  that  his  sagacity  may  be  at  fault." 

Mr.  Sinclair  did  not  see  this  at  all.  He  thought  the 
more  of  Peter  for  denying  himself  what  would  have 
been  a  very  keen  gratification,  that  he  might  do  his 
duty.  And  Bell  was  of  like  opinion.  She  was  given 
to  think  well  of  Peter,  and  his  mother  showed  her  his 
letters  occasionally.  She  was  rather  fond  of  showing 


QUIXSTAR.  255 

them.  "  I  tell't  him  the  last  time  I  wrote  to  him,"  she 
said,  "  that  ye  whiles  read  his  letters  and  thocht  a  heap 
o'  them." 

"  Perhaps  he  may  not  like  people  reading  his  letters, 
Mrs.  Veitch  ?  " 

"  What  for  should  he  no'  like  it  ?  There's  naething 
in  them  he  need  be  ashamed  o',  and  ye  see  he  aye  speers 
after  ye." 

These  messages  coming  from  Peter,  and  going  to 
him  in  this  way,  were  a  shade  more  substantial  and 
satisfactory  than  those  that  came  and  went  vifi  the  moon, 
although  they  were  good  too  of  their  kind. 

Poor  Effie — she  did  not  come  out  as  a  strong  mind- 
ed heroine ;  true  to  her  role  of  sensitiveness,  she  lost 
heart  and  spirit.  Bell  soothed  and  comforted  and  humor- 
ed her,  but  she  refused  to  be  comforted — that  is,  in  pri- 
vate, for  in  public  she  seemed  rather  to  forget  her  grief. 
After  reading  John's  letter  she  came  home,  and  wept 
bitterly.  Then  Bell  said  to  her,  "  If  I  were  you,  Effie,  I 
would  not  pine  after  a  worthless  man  like  a  love-sick 
girl.  I  would  rise  and  shake  it  off,  and  not  let  it  eat  into 
my  life  to  make  it  useless." 

"  He  may  not  be  worthless,"  sobbed  Effie. 

"  Well,  stop  thinking  of  him  till  he  has  proved  him- 
self worthy.  Why,  he  does  not  even  mention  you," 
concluded  Bell  indignantly. 

"  People  often  don't  speak  of  those  they  are  always 
thinking  about." 

"  You  are  infatuated,  Effie.  A  woman  may  not,  but 
what  should  hinder  a  man  ?  What  should  hinder  John 
Gilbert  ?  It  would  have  been  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world.  So  natural,  that  for  him  not  to  do  it  looks 
as  if  he  had  entirely  forgotten  you,  or  omitted  you  on 
purpose." 


256  QUIXSTAK. 

"  You  are  cruel,  Bell.'' 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  crueller.  I  wish  I  could  kill  the 
idea  of  John  Gilbert  out  of  you.  He  will  be  the  bane  of 
your  life,  as  he  is  of  mine  at  present.  Even  his  mother 
has  nothing  to  say  for  him.  Oh,  how  I  pity  his  mother  !  " 

Bell's  love  for  her  sister  was  great — all  the  greater 
that  it  was  the  love  of  a  strong  nature  for  a  weak  one 
— not  that  Bell  ever  for  a  moment  thought  her  sister 
weak;  quite  the  contrary,  nature  had  most  kindly  denied 
Bell  the  faculty  of  seeing  flaws  in  her  friends. 

She  felt  the  responsibility  of  being  Effie's  sole  confi- 
dant, and  wished  to  tell  her  mother  the  story,  but  to  this 
Effie  would  not  consent,  and  Bell's  post  was  not  envia- 
ble. Thinking  that  change  of  scene  might  be  beneficial, 
she  eagerly  accepted  an  invitation  they  got  from  a  dis- 
tant relative  of  Mrs.  Sinclair's  to  visit  her  in  Ironburgh. 
Effie  hung  back.  She  was  a  stricken  deer  that  did  not 
want  to  leave  the  spot  she  was  on,  but  Bell  carried  her 
off,  and  found  her  reward. 

Their  hostess  was  rather  a  stiff,  starched  individual, 
with  three  daughters  resembling  herself;  but  Mrs.  Rae- 
burn  came  with  her  carriage  very  often,  and  took  them 
to  spend  the  day  with  her.  Effie  never  disguised  her 
eagerness  to  go,  but  Bell,  out  of  courtesy  to  the  friends 
she  was  staying  with,  often  declined,  and  laid  herself  on 
the  altar  of  duty,  very  thankful  to  see  her  sister  looking 
like  herself  again. 

One  day  when  Bell  was  out  alone,  she  seized  the  op- 
portunity (for  it  was  not  often  she  was  alone)  of  going 
to  look  at  some  parts  of  the  town  that  she  knew  her 
cousins  so-called  would  shrink  from  putting  their  foot 
in.  She  walked  on,  thinking  and  observing  as  she  went, 
when  she  came  up  to  a  little  boy  in  a  perfect  storm  of 
grief.  His  face  was  all  "  begrutten,"  and  he  was  sobbing 


QUIXSTAR.  257 

as  if  his  heart  would  break.  Wondering  what  could 
be  the  cause  of  such  extreme  abandonment,  she  stopped 
to  see  if  she  could  do  anything  in  the  way  of  consolation. 

"  What  is  it,  my  man  ?  "  she  said  soothingly. 

"  Oh,  my  peerie  (top) !  my  peerie  ! "  he  sobbed. 

"  Is  that  all  ?    What  has  happened  to  it  ?  " 

"  It's  gane  down  the  cundy  (conduit),  an'  I'll  never 
see't  again,"  and  he  pointed  to  a  grating  over  a  drain 
which  had  a  gap  in  it  wide  enough  to  swallow  his  toy. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  never  mind,  dry  your  face  and  cheer 
up,  I'll  give  you  a  penny  to  buy  another." 

His  awful  grief  vanished  on  the  instant,  and  she  was 
fishing  in  her  purse  for  the  promised  coin,  when  a  woman 
came  out  of  a  door.  "  Mother,"  cried  the  urchin, "  she's 
gaunna  gie  me  a  penny  to  buy  a  new  peerie." 

"  Bairn,"  she  said,  "  ye're  fit  to  ruin  a  body  in  peeries, 
this  is  the  second  ye've  lost ;  if  ye  loss  anither  I'll  peerie 
ye  ;"then  turning  to  Bell  she  said,  "  Ye're  far  owerkind, 
mem." 

It  began  to  rain>  and  the  boy's  mother  asked  Bell  to 
wait  a  little  in  her  house  till  the  shower  went  off.  As 
Bell  sat  waiting  she  heard  a  deep  ominous  cough,  which 
did  not  seem  far  off,  and  she  looked  inquiringly  at  her 
hostess,  who  said,  "  Ay,  it's  a  man  that  lives  but  and  ben 
wi'  us ;  he  has  been  ill  for  a  while,  and  he's  no  unco 
weel  off." 

"  Is  he  not  ?  "  Bell  said. 

"  He  bides  wi'  a  sister,  and  she  drinks,  and  he  has  an 
awfu'  time  o't  wi'  her.  He  had  been  in  a  better  way 
ance,  for  he  keepit  them  a' — that's  his  faither  and  mother 
and  her  like — but  she's  the  only  ane  left  now,  and  he 
cam'  hame  ill  a  while  syne,  and  tried  to  keep  a  bit  schule 
as  laug  as  he  was  able,  but  he's  past  that  the  now.  I 
doubt  his  siller  has  melted  away.  I'm  often  wae  for  him. 


258  QUIXSTAR. 

I  wish  he  may  get  his  meat;  when  I'm  niakin'  a  bit 
denner,  I  gey  an'  often  tak'  him  in  some." 

"  Has  he  no  friends  ?  "  asked  Bell.  "  Can  nothing  be 
done  for  him  ?  " 

"  Weel,  I  dinna  ken,  I'm  sure." 

"  I  can  give  some  money ;  I  don't  know  of  anything 
else  I  can  do." 

"  Money,"  said  the  woman,  "  would  do  him  gude,  if 
he  could  get  the  use  o't." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  take  charge  of  it,  and  get  what's 
necessary  ?  " 

"  I  think  ye  should  gie  him't  yersel' ;  if  I  took  it  he 
would  think  I  had  been  begging  for  him ;  now  if  ye  gie 
him't,  I'm  no  to  ken  onything  about  it." 

"  That  may  be  true,  but  I  have  no  pretence  for  call- 
ing. I  could  not  justify  my  intrusion." 

"  Weel,  mem,  there's  mony  a  leddy  that  doesna  stick 
at  bouncing  into  a  puir  body's  house  whether  they  have 
an  errand  or  no';  but  he's  at  a  gey  low  pass,  he  may  be 
glad  o'  a  word  o'  sympathy." 

"  Would  you  go  in  then,  and  say  I  heard  he  was  not 
very  well,  and  would  be  glad  to  see  him  if  he  would  let 
me?" 

The  woman  immediately  opened  her  neighbor's  door, 
and  Bell  heard  her  say,  "  There's  a  leddy  wantin'  to  see 
ye,  sir." 

"  A  lady !     What  lady  ?  " 

"  I  couldna  say,  sir ;  she's  a  stranger  to  me." 

"  And  to  me  too.  I  know  no  ladies  that  could  come 
here.  Say  I  don't  want  to  see  her.  Say  anything  you 
like." 

There  was  something  in  the  voice  that  made  Bell 
listen. 

"  But,  sir — "  the  wroman  began. 


QUIXSTAR.  259 

"  She's  not  to  come  here,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  want  to 
see  her." 

In  the  face  of  this  mandate  Bell  stepped  into  the 
room. 

"  I  can  hardly  be  mistaken,"  she  said.  "  I  really  wish 
to  see  you,  Mr.  Doubleday." 

Of  a  truth  it  was  Mr.  Doubleday,  fallen  upon  evil 
days.  He  looked  keenly  at  her,  and  his  first  act  (show- 
ing wonderful  presence  of  mind  for  him)  was  to  raise  his 
hand  to  his  head  and  pull  off  a  striped  worsted  nightcap ; 
the  blood  rushed  to  his  thin  white  face  and  receded 
again,  while  a  smile  faintly  gleamed  on  it,  like  a  single 
shaft  of  afternoon  light  on  tarnished  December  snow. 

"  Miss  Sinclair  !  "  was  all  he  said. 

He  lay  back  on  his  dirty  cushions.  Poor  man,  ill- 
ness and  poverty  had  not  added  to  his  attractions.  Never 
celebrated  for  his  attention  to  dress,  he  was  worse  now 
than  ever.  An  old  black  suit,  glazed  and  whitey-brown, 
hung  on  his  shrunken  body,  the  coat  was  fastened  across 
his  breast  with  a  great  stalwart  yellow  pin,  the  only  vig- 
orous-looking thing  in  the  house ;  no  shirt  was  visible ; 
his  eyes  were  as  feeble  and  his  hair  as  erect  and  scrubby 
as  ever.  Whether  the  one  rapid  touch  he  had  given  to 
his  toilet  by  snatching  off  his  nightcap  was  an  improve- 
ment might  be  doubted.  A  small  table  was  before  him, 
covered  with  books,  and  he  had  been  writing,  or  trying 
to  do  so. 

Bell  lifted  a  chair  near  him  and  sat  down. 

"  Still  busy  among  books,  Mr.  Doubleday,"  she  said 
cheerily.  "  Do  you  know  I  was  dreaming  about  you 
last  night,  but  I  did  not  expect  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  you  to-day." 

It  would  have  been  a  trying  thing  for  Mr.  Doubleday 
to  have  met  Bell  in  any  circumstances,  but  here,  in  this 


260  QUIXSTAR. 

squalid  room,  feeble  and  poverty-stricken,  with  the  dread 
that  his  sister  might  burst  in  at  any  moment  in  any  stage 
of  drunkenness — it  was  too  much  for  him  ;  he  could  not 
speak. 

Bell  looked  into  his  books  and  remarked  upon  them 
by  way  of  making  talk,  for  she  hardly  knew  what  to 
say ;  as  to  offering  him  money,  that  she  could  not  do, 
although  he  seemed  to  want  the  common  necessaries  of 
life.  On  the  only  chair  besides  the  one  she  sat  on  stood 
a  basin  of  porridge  and  sour  milk  that  had  been  the 
breakfast  he  had  tried  to  eat,  and  there  was  no  appear- 
ance of  any  other  food  in  the  house,  although  it  was  long 
past  the  hour  when  an  invalid  ought  to  have  had  some 
tempting  nourishment. 

"  Miss  Sinclair,"  he  said  at  last,  "  it  is  very  kind  of 
you  to  come  here,  but  you  must  not  stay  long  in  a  place 
like  this." 

"  Must  I  not  ?  Do  you  remember  how  long  it  is 
since  ycoi  left  Quixstar  ?  " 

"Yes;  it  is  five  years  past  on  the  17th  of  last  Sep- 
tember. This  is  November.  I  don't  know  the  day  of 
the  month." 

"  It's  the  15th.  Why  don't  you  ask  what  we've  been 
doing  all  that  time  ?  You  should  ask  what  we've  been 
studying  at  least  ?  and  do  you  know  we've  had  a  mar- 
riage amongst  us  ;  guess  whom  ?  " 

"  Not  you  ?  " 

"  No,  not  me.  Jane  Gilbert  and  Tom  are  married 
and  settled  in  Quixstar.  He  keeps  a  little  -  money- 
shop." 

Bell  looked  at  her  watch,  and  Mr.  Doubleday  fain 
would,  have  asked  what  o'clock  it  was,  for  his  own 
watch  having  been  disposed  of  from  necessity,  he  had 
no  means  of  knowing  the  hour,  except  by  guessing;  but 


QUIXSTAR.  261 

he  refrained  lest  he  should  betray  his  circumstances. 
And  during  the  long  hours  of  his  sleepless  nights  he 
comforted  himself  by  thinking  that  knowing  the  exact 
time  would  not  make  it  go  more  quickly. 

He  trembled  lest  his  sister  should  come  in.  What 
a  man  of  his  temperament  suffered  from  this  coarse 
woman,  no  one  but  himself  knew.  If  she  came  in  she 
would  ask  money  from  Miss  Sinclair  without  an  instant's 
hesitation,  he  was  well  aware. 

Bell  saw  that  for  some  reason'he  was  impatient  she 
should  go,  and  she  rose  and  said — 

"  I'll  come  soon  back,  unless  you  seriously  object," 
and  she  laughed. 

"  Don't  come,"  he  said ;  "  don't  come  to  such  a  place 
as  this." 

"  No,"  said  she ;  "  I  really  think  I  can't.  I  make  it  a 
rule  never  to  visit  an  old  friend  unless  he  lives  in  a  fine 
house." 

"  Go,"  he  said,  suddenly  and  eagerly  as  a  coarse,  re- 
pulsive-looking woman  passed  the  window.  He  looked 
positively  frightened. 

Hurriedly  saying  good-bye,  Bell  passed  out,  and  en- 
countering Miss  Doubleday,  shrank  from  her.  "  And 
that  is  his  sister,"  she  thought ;  "how  horrible!"  then 
she  turned  back  and  went  into  their  neighbor's  house ; 
she  said,  "  Take  that,"  giving  some  money,  "  and  do 
what  you  can  for  him  as  soon  as  you  can.  I  could  not 
offer  it  to  him." 

The  woman  was  surprised  at  the  tones  of  her  voice, 
thanked  her,  and  went  'further  into  details  of  his  cir- 
cumstances, but  Bell  left  her  abruptly  ;  she  could  hardly 
stand  it ;  she  would  have  wept  but  that  she  was  on  the 
street ;  the  very  depths  of  her  tenderness  and  compas- 
sion were  stirred. 


262  QUIXSTAR. 

In  the  dark  hours  of  his  life  during  the  past  five 
years,  the  idea  of  Bell  Sinclair  had  many  times  gleamed 
on  Mr.  Doubleday  as  you  have  seen  lightning  play 
round  the  black  shoulder  of  a  hill  at  night,  and  instantly 
disappear,  leaving  a  shadow  of  gladness  in  your  mind. 
But  it  took  all  the  hours  of  this  wretched  night  to 
master  the  feelings  which  the  sight  of  her  had  revived. 
Toil  and  disappointment  had  kept  him  company  since  he 
could  think  or  feel,  and  now  disease  and  poverty  had 
joined  the  party;  anS  when  they  were  sitting  round 
him  like  dogs  of  the  desert  waiting  for  their  prey,  that 
was  the  moment  chosen  to  send  the  angel  of  his  dreams 
to  look  at  him. 

In  night  and  darkness,  when  the  imagination  is  roused 
and  the  judgment  asleep,  how  misery  seems  steeped 
in  misery,  and  calamity  descends  into  blacker  blackness  ; 
with  the  morning  sun  comes  a  lightening  of  body  and 
mind.  After  this  wild  night  Mr.  Doubleday  looked  his 
lot  hi  the  face,  and,  bad  though  it  was,  it  was  not  really 
worse  than  it  had  been  yesterday  morning. 

Why  should  all  the  lessons  of  faith  and  patience 
he  had  been  years  in  learning  be  lost  in  a  single  night  ? 
He  rose,  and  with  trembling  fingers  got  himself  into  his 
clothes  once  more.  He  was  alone  in  the  house,  without 
fire  or  breakfast.  He  sat  down  and  read  his  Greek  Tes- 
tament, a  book  he  was  fond  of,  for  its  doctrines  were 
not  foolishness  to  him  as  they  were  to  the  polite  people 
in  whose  language  it  was  written ;  and  if  ever  he  had 
found  stumbling-blocks  there,  that  time  was  past.  In 
a  little  he  heard  a  knock  at  his  door,  and  his  kindly 
neighbor  entered.  She  had  suspected  he  was  alone,  and 
had  come  to  see  what  she  could  do  for  him.  She  brought 
him  the  never-failing  cup  of  tea,  but  it  had  the  bitter, 
stewed,  sickly  taste  which  belongs  to  coarse  cheap  tea 


QUIXSTAK.  263 

that  is  always  kept  hatching  in  a  pot  by  the  side  of  a 
fire.  He  could  not  have  relished  it  if  he  had  been 
well,  and  he  was  at  that  stage  of  illness  when  he  longed 
for  something  that  had  taste  and  substance.  He  swal- 
lowed it,  however,  and  told  the  good  woman  that  he 
did  not  know  how  he  could  ever  repay  her  kindness,  for 
his  was  an  humble,  grateful  soul,  and  she  left  him  with 
a  motherly  yearning  towards  him,  determined  that  he 
should  have  a  dinner  of  the  best  from  the  stranger's 
bounty.  Feeling  faint,  he  rose  and  looked  into  the 
press,  where  he  found  the  porridge  and  sour  milk  that 
had  been  left  the  previous  day.  He  ate  that  and  felt 
refreshed,  the  sharp  acid  suited  his  palate ;  and  after 
his  meal  he  bent  his  head  in  silent  thanks. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

dinner  was  over  in  the  respectable  mansion 
where  the  Sinclairs  were  visiting,  Bell  went  to  her  room 
to  write  a  letter  to  Miss  Raeburn. 

"  DEAK  MRS.  PHANTOM,"  she  began,  "  Mamma's  good 
cousin  and  her  three  daughters  are  very  kind  to  us — 
oppressively  kind,  I  may  say ;  for  they  have  the  notion 
that  they  should  entertain  their  guests  from  morning  to 
night,  and  accordingly  they  never  lose  sight  of  us  from 
the  time  we  rise  till  we  go  to  bed.  It  is  comparatively 
easy  for  them,  as  they  are  four,  and  mount  duty  by  turns ; 
but  imagine  us  being  obliged  to  sit  upright,  not  to  yawn, 
to  look  pleased  and  even  animated,  and  generally  to  be- 
have ourselves  for  thirteen  or  fourteen  hours  a  day. 
One  good  thing  is,  that  Effie  gets  no  opportunity  to 
mope ;  she  has  given  up  writing  poetry,  which  I  take  to 
be  a  symptom  of  returning  health  and  spirits,  and  we 
have  met  many  friends.  If  we  had  gone  to  Australia  we 
could  hardly  have  fallen  in  with  more;  wre  could  nearly 
match  John  Gilbert,  I  had  to  apologize  to  the  ladies 
for  leaving  them  just  now,  by  saying  I  was  going  to 
write  a  rather  particular  letter,  and  would  like  to  be 
alone.  The  truth  is,  I  expect  to  '  greet '  before  I  am  done, 
and  that  is  a  manifestation  of  the  weakness  of  humanity 
which  it  is  better  should  take  place  privately.  I  was 

taking  a  walk  to-day  in  out-of-the-way  places,  and  who 
t 


QUIXSTAK.  265 

do-  you  think  I  discovered  by  the  merest  chance  ?  Mr. 
Doubleday!  Are  you  not  hyper-astonished?  I  found 
him  in  sickness  and  want,  tormented  by  a  fearful-looking 
drunken  sister.  I  am  thankful  I  had  the  presence  of 
mind  not  to  look  surprised  or  take  any  notice  of  his  de- 
plorable state.  •  Their  next  neighbor  told  me,  among 
other  things,  that  they  had  not  been  able  to  pay  for  gas, 
and  it  had  been  cut  off;  so  he  sits  mostly  in  the  dark, 
but  sometimes  gets  a  candle.  One  night  when  this 
neighbor  went  in  his  sister  was  lying  in  a  drunken  sleep, 
and  when  Mr.  Doubleday  snuffed  the  candle  he  put  the 
snuffers  on  a  stocking  he  had  folded  and  laid  down  for 
the  purpose,  that  he  might  not  risk  making  a  noise  and 
disturbing  her  by  putting  them  in  the  snuffer-tray.  Think 
of  it !  He  is  certainly  too  good  for  this  world.  ISTow, 
what  is  to  be  done  ?  My  impulse  would  have  been  to 
take  him  direct  to  Old  Battle  House,  but  I  don't  think 
mamma  would  like  it :  then  I  thought  of  writing  to 
uncle,  but  it  struck  me  you  would  see  and  understand 
the  thing  better.  How  would  it  do  to  subscribe  among 
us  money  to  send  him  to  a  warmer  climate  ?  I  would 
give  a  year's  income  and  more,  and  feel  I  had  never  grat- 
ified myself  so  much  in  my  life.  The  difficulty  would 
be  to  persuade  him ;  only  he  must  see  that  staying 
where  he  is,  is  next  thing  to  suicide.  I  know  you 
will  throw  yourself  into  this,  and  it  must  be  done  quick- 
ly. There  is  no  time  to  be  put  off.  It  must  have  been 
this  sister  who  wrote  to  him  so  often  when  he  was  with 
us — asking  money,  I  don't  doubt.  He  has  had  a  hard 
life.  I  expect  to  hear  from  you  immediately." 

To  whom  Miss  Raeburn  : — 

"  MY  DEAR  TIBBY, — Gradually — insidiously  and  fool- 
ishly, I  admit — I  have  allowed  the  habit  of  you  to  grow 
12 


266  QUIXSTAR. 

upon  me  till  now  that  I  am  deprived  of  you,  I  feel  like 
the  drunkard  who  cannot  get  his  dram.  Does  it  become 
my  duty  to  lay  you  down  firmly  now,  rather  than  go  on 
and  be  enslaved  in  all  time  coming  ?  Say  ? 

"  It  will  be  your  turn  likely  to  be  hyper-astonished 
when  I  tell  you  that  I  do  not  pity  Mr.  Doubleday.  It 
would  be  impertinent  to  pity  him.  Such  a  man  is  above 
the  world.  There  are  a  great  many  people  about  whom 
one  can't  help  thinking,  when  one  hears  of  their  death, 
that  it  will  take  some  little  time  before  they  shake  into 
the  ways  of  heaven;  but  these  won't  be  strange  to  Mr. 
Doubleday :  he  will  fit  in  much  better  there  than  ever 
he  has  done  here ;  and  if  it  were  not  for  the  sixth  com- 
mandment, the  kindest  thing  would  be  to  let  him  stay 
where  he  is ;  but  it  will  hardly  do  to  fly  in  the  face  of 
the  decalogue,  therefore  by  all  means  let  us  get  him  to  a 
warmer  climate,  and  there  need  be  no  difficulty.  The 
proper  object  of  pity  is  that  wretched  sister  of  his.  You 
don't  depict  her  as  an  angel  of  light ;  but  could  nothing 
be  done  for  her  ?  If  we  all  got  our  deserts,  who  Avould 
escape  a  Avhipping  ?  For  myself,  I  feel  wofully  wicked, 
feeble,  and  fallible  ;  but  observe,  Tibby,  I  don't  say  that  to 
every  one.  The  other  day  I  was  dining  with  the  Smiths, 
and  I  was  sitting  beside  Mr.  Kennedy.  There  was  some 
talk  about  a  preacher  who  has  made  a  little  sensation 
by  his  preaching.  Among  other  things  he  had  said  from 
the  pulpit,  one  of  the  company  remarked,  was,  '  that  the 
devil  heard  every  sermon  that  was  preached.'  I  said, 
'  Poor  wretch,  that  must  be  no  slight  part  of  his  punish- 
ment.' The  words  were  not  out  of  my  mouth  when  I 
felt  my  face  burn  ;  but  as  I  had  spoken  low  I  hoped  they 
might  not  have  been  heard.  However,  one  of  the  Smiths, 
to  whose  juvenile  bones  it  was  of  course  marrow,  called 
out — 


QUIXSTAR.  267 

"  '  Mr.  Kennedy,  did  you  hear  what  Miss  Raeburn 
said?' 

"  '  Perfectly,'  said  Mr.  Kennedy  ;  '  and  I  agree  with 
her.  I  would  not  like  to  hear  every  sermon  that  is 
preached  either' — which  I  believe  ;  but  it  was  a  foolish 
speech  of  mine,  and  I  have  been  sitting  in  the  chair  of 
repentance  ever  since. 

"Mrs.  Smith  told  me  confidentially — but  everybody 
knows — that  her  eldest  son  is  to  be  married  immediate- 
ly to  an  Ironburgh  heiress  with  £70,000,  and  they  are 
going  round  the  globe  for  their  marriage  trip.  It  is,  she 
said,  a  marriage  of  pure  affection  on  both  sides. 

"  If  the  bride  has  £35,000  and  they  go  half  round  the 
globe,  or  if  she  has  £17,500  and  they  go  to  Paris,  it  will 
do  very  well.  I  am  glad  of  this,  for  I  like  to  see  people 
happy  after  their  kind,  and  this  is  a  thing  that  will 
make  the  Smiths  very  happy.  Mr.  Johnston  the  butcher 
— Old  Bloody  Politeful,  as  the  Smiths  call  him — gave 
me  a  New  Zealand  newspaper  the  other  day,  from 
which  it  seems  his  son  John  is  making  quite  a  figure 
there.  How  proud  and  happy  his  father  looked!  It 
was  very  natural,  and  I  got  into  the  spirit  of  it  myself. 
Who  knows  but  Quixstar  may  be  famous  yet  through 
its  great  men  ? — '  the  obscure  little  town  of  Quixstar,' 
as  the  newspapers  wickedly  say  when  they  have  occa- 
sion to  mention  it. 

"  I  see  a  cloud  like  a  man's  hand  gathering  over  our 
little  society  here.  It  may  increase  or  blow  off;  all  I 
can  say  is,  I  am  glad  it  is  two  men  who  are  going  to 
make  fools  of  themselves,  and  not  two  women.  I  have 
as  much  esprit  de  corps  as  that,  and  as  much  esprit  de 
race  as  to  be  sorry  two  men  I  have  a  regard  for — or 
whether  I  have  a  regard  for  them  or  not — should  fall  out 
by  the  way. 


268  QU1XSTAR. 

"  I  will  be  in  Ironburgh  the  day  after  to-morrow, 
to  get  Mr.  Doubleday  excavated.  If  you  and  Effie  give 
so  much,  I  will  make  up  all  deficiencies,  and  you  could 
present  the  money  as  a  mark  of  gratitude.  It  will  not 
be  public  at  all,  and  he  need  have  no  delicacy  about  it ; 
at  least  I  hope  not.  Au  revoir." 

Without  doubt,  whether  she  thought  it  or  not, 
Miss  Raeburn  was  clever  in  more  ways  than  one.  In 
the  course  of  a  few  days  she  had  Mr.  Doubleday  and 
his  outfit  packed  and  sent  off  en  route  to  the  shores  of  the 
Mediterranean,  and  his  sister  put  into  a  retreat  for  the 
inebriate,  hoping  the  best.  By  some  she  was  called 
odd,  and  she  was  odd,  so  far  as  pursuing  her  way  re- 
gardless of  remark  is  odd. 

There  are  people  who  tell  us  that  oddities  will  die 
out;  that  the  excessive  attrition  of  modern  times,  the 
railways,  steamers,  telegraphs,  and  newspapers,  will  rub 
every  corner  down,  till  men  and  women  are  reduced  to 
uniformity,  as  if  they  had  been  turned  out  of  one  mould. 
No  fear !  Nature  has  never  yet  been  beaten  out  of  the 
field  by  art;  she  has  never  yet  shown  herself  so  little  fer- 
tile in  resource.  There  will  be  oddities  to  the  end  of  time ; 
but  the  types  may  change,  the  patterns  will  be  different; 
and  Dame  Nature  has  the  new  patterns  in  her  pocket, 
all  ready  to  be  handed  out  as  needed.  The  retired  med- 
ical woman,  for  instance — will  she  be  less  worth  know- 
ing than  the  same  type  of  woman  whose  energies  nevep 
had  an  outlet,  but  who  left  perhaps  a  song  or  a  proverb, 
or  a  ballad  or  racy  saying,  floating  on  society  nameless, 
the  only  witness  that  she  had  ever  existed  ?  One  would 
like  to  be  the  infant  whose  birth  wras  announced  in  the 
newspapers  yesterday,  for  he  may  live  to  meet  her,  and 
she  will  be  worth  meeting — only  there  are  so  many  things 
one  would  like  to  meet  and  to  see,  and  time  is  short. 


QUIXSTAR.  269 

When  Mrs.  Sinclair  heard  of  Mr.  Doubleday's  reap- 
pearance on  the  scene,  her  maternal  instincts  flew  to 
arms  at  once,  but  quite  unnecessarily.  It  is  true  that 
Mr.  Doubleday's  love  was  of  a  kind  that,  like  the  her- 
rings in  Loch  Fyne — if  such  a  comparison  may  be  al- 
lowed— could  be  nourished  on  invisible  food ;  and  men 
of  his  stamp  are  not  keenly  observant;  still,  even  the 
snail  has  eyes  at  the  ends  of  its  feelers ;  and  during  the 
few  days'  intercourse  he  had  with  Bell  before  leaving, 
he  knew  by  instinct  that  his  love  was  hopeless.  He 
would  have  liked  to  have  died  then,  wrapped  in  the  ely- 
sium  of  her  presence ;  but  people  don't  die  when  they 
like,  and  Mr.  Doubleday  went  away,  recovered  a  good 
measure  of  health,  and  returned;  while  many  of  the  in- 
valids who  left  Britain  that  winter,  desiring  to  live  with 
a  very  intensity  of  desire,  who  had  much  to  live  for — 
love,  wealth,  and  all  that  the  world  can  give  —  never 
came  back. 

Miss  Raeburn  returned  to  Quixstar  as  soon  as  Mr. 
Doubleday  was  fairly  off,  leaving  Bell  and  her  sister  at  her 
brother's  (Mr.  Raeburn's)  house,  where  they  were  more 
at  home  than  in  the  stiff  establishment  of  their  relative. 

Mrs.  Raeburn  liked  to  have  girls  with  her,  having 
none  of  her  own — a  fact  she  often  bewailed.  Of  late 
she  had  sometimes  got  Mary  Gilbert  for  a  week  or  two, 
but  Mary  was  very  valuable  at  home,  and  liked  best  to 
stay  there.  Since  Jane's  influence  had  been  withdrawn, 
and  she  had  become  her  mother's  sole  companion,  she 
had  improved  and  developed  amazingly;  and  Mrs.  Rae- 
burn, in  the  kindness  of  her  heart,  thought  what  a  good 
daughter-in-law  she  would  make.  If  she  had  been  eager 
to  prevent  any  of  her  sons  falling  in  love  with  her,  it 
would  have  been  the  very  thing  that  would  have  taken 
place ;  as  it  was,  not  one  of  them  did  so. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

MiSS  RAEBTJKN"  was  no  sooner  home  than  she  had  a 
call  from  old  Mrs.  Gilbert,  who  came  with  a  letter  in  her 
hand  she  had  got  from  her  grandnephew,  about  which 
she  wished  to  consult  Miss  Raeburn. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  "  there  is  a  letter  enclosed  in 
mine  which  I  am  to  give  to  Miss  Effie  Sinclair,  and  say 
nothing  about  it,  or  my  own  either;  but  I  like  none  o' 
these  underhand  ways,  so  I  brought  it  to  you  to  read, 
to  see  what  you  think  of  it." 

The  letter  was  dated  about  two  months  before,  from 
a  place  Hongatonga  by  name,  and  was  as  follows : — 

"MY  DEAR  AUNT, — Among  the  many  kind  friends 
that  I  left  at  home,  after  my  own  immediate  family, 
there  is  no  one  I  think  so  often  about  as  yourself.  How 
often  I  think  of  the  tea-drinkings  we  juveniles  had  with 
you !  I  see  the  old  fluted  silver  tea-pot  with  the  island 
on  its  side,  in  which  resided  a  big  G,  as  distinctly  at 
this  moment  as  if  it  were  before  me.  Is  it  still  in  exist- 
ence ?  " 

["  What  would  hinder  it  ?  "  interjected  Mrs.  Gilbert 
to  Miss  Raeburn,  who  was  reading  aloud.] 

"  I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world  since  I  last 
saw  it.  This  is  a  fine  country,  with  a  great  future  before 
it.  The  town  where  I  am  will  be  a  large,  handsome 
place  when  it  is  all  built.  Five  years  ago  the  place 


QUIXSTAR.  271 

where  it  stands  was  bush;  now  it  has  ten  thousand  in- 
habitants— many,  I  may  say  most,  of  them  Scotch.  There 
is  a  man  here  who  knew  my  uncle  Gilbert.  His  father 
had  a  large  tea-shop  in  Eastburgh  in  my  uncle's  time. 
Wilson  was  his  name  ;  his  mother's  name  was  Adamson. 
Do  you  remember  them  ?  He  is  married  to  a  woman, 
or  lady  I  should  perhaps  say,  from  the  same  place  as 
Mr.  Kennedy,  and  she  knew  Mr.  K.  very  well  when  he 
was  a  boy.  Speaking  of  Mr.  Kennedy  reminds  me  that 
we  are  not  very  well  off  for  ministers  here,  and  religion 
suffers  accordingly.  If  you  know  any  good  preacher 
who  can't  fall  readily  into  a  berth  at  home,  advise  him 
by  all  means  to  come  out ;  there  is  a  good  field,  and  he 
would  meet  with  fair  encouragement.  Some  earnest  meu 
here  have  set  agoing  revival  meetings  at  present,  and 
much  good  has  been  done.  I  have  been  at  most  of  them 
in  the  evenings ;  and  souls  are  being  turned  to  Christ 
up  to  11.30.  ["  O  John !  John !  "  ejaculated  Miss  Rae- 
burn.]  But  I  can't  say  I  approve  of  such  late  hours,  even 
for  religious  purposes.  Mr.  Wilson  takes  an  active  hand 
in  these  things.  He  has  a  large  sheep  run.  Sheep  are 
a  remarkably  good  investment  here  ;  indeed,  there  are 
many  good  investments.  You  can  get  fifteen,  twenty, 
and  even  twenty-five  per  cent.,  and  the  most  perfect  se- 
curity— no  risk  whatever.  I  have  just  been  thinking  it 
is  a  pity  your  money  should  bring  you  such  trifling  re- 
turns, when  it  could  be  put  out  to  such  advantage  here ; 
so  if  you  like  to  send  it,  or  some  of  it — say  £2000  or 
so — to  me,  I'll  do  my  best  for  you ;  I'll  send  you  a  clear 
£400  a  year  for  it  at  the  least.  I  enclose  a  letter  for 
Miss  E.  Sinclair;  would  you  give  it  to  herself  quietly, 
and  say  nothing  of  having  had  a  letter  from  me,  so  that 
no  suspicion  may  be  raised  ? — I  remain  your  affectionate 
nephew,  JOHN  GILBERT. 


272  QUIXSTAR. 

"P.  S. — Would  you  not  think  of  coming  out  here 
yourself?  Old  Mrs.  Adamson,  Mrs.  Wilson's  mother, 
came  out  recently.  She  is  eighty-three,  and  the  likeli- 
hood is,  by  coming  to  the  'colony  she  will  add  ten  years 
to  her  life.  That  is  almost  invariably  the  effect  of  such 
a  change.  I'll  expect  the  money  at  all  events.  You 
know  me  well  enough  to  know  that  I'll  do  nothing  for 

O  O 

you  I  would  not  do  for  myself. — J.  G." 

Miss  Raeburn  closed  the  letter  with  a  smile  on  her 
face.  She  could  not  help  it,  and  she  thought,  "  Oh  for 
dull  mediocrity !  " 

"  Well,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Gilbert,  "  what  are  you 
going  to  do  ?  Transfer  yourself  and  your  money  to  the 
antipodes  ?  " 

"  Na ;  I'll  no'  transfer  myself,  although,  if  I  would 
have  done  that  for  onybody,  it  would  have  been  for 
John.  Isn't  it  strange  that  the  laddie  says  nothing  about 
what  he  is  doing,  or  how  he  lives,  or  about  the  ways  and 
habits  o'  the  folk,  nor  how  he  never  wrote  to  me  before, 
and  writes  so  seldom  to  anybody  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  is  strange." 

"  But  I  think  I  might  send  him  the  siller  ?  " 

"  If  you  lose  £2000,  can  you  still  live  comfortably  ?  " 

"  Na ;  if  I  were  to  lose  £2000  I  would  be  next  door 
to  a  beggar." 

"  Then  don't  send  it." 

"  Do  you  think  no'  ?  He's  a  clever  business  man, 
John,  and  he  has  a  sense  of  religion." 

"  That  may  or  may  not  be,  but  you  have  no  right  to 
risk  bringing  yourself  from  comfort  to  poverty  in  your 
old  age.  Take  my  advice,  Mrs.  Gilbert.  I  love  John 
as  much  as  you  do,  but  I  would  not  send  him  that 
money." 


QUIXSTAK.  273 

"  Would  you  not  ?  " 

"  Most  decidedly  not ;  and  I  would  burn  that  letter 
in  case  his  mother  asks  to  see  it." 

"  But  I  would  like  to  keep  it  for  his  sake  !  "  said  the 
old  lady,  with  a  tear  in  her  eye. 

"  Then  you  must  not  say  anything  about  it.  It 
would  pain  his  mother  exceedingly.  As  for  Effie's  letter, 
I'll  post  it  in  Eastburgh  to-morrow  if  you  like,  and  it 
can  take  its  chance  of  falling  into  her  mother's  fingers. 
Like  you,  I  hate  underhand  dealings." 

And  Mrs.  Gilbert  went  away  in  the  state  people 
often  are  after  taking  advice,  not  very  sure  whether  to 
act  on  it  or  not ;  but  she  decided  to  wait  a  while.  Age 
is  not  impulsive.  To  do  her  justice,  it  was  not  the  high 
interest  she  thought  of  chiefly.  She  considered  that  the 
money  would  give  John  some  standing  where  he  was — 
rightly  judging  that  human  nature  at  Hongatonga  was 
much  the  same  as  at  Quixstar. 

Mrs.  Sinclair  forwarded  John's  letter  to  Effie  with- 
out suspicion  or  remark,  and  she  got  in  it  Mr.  Raeburn's 
dining-room  when  she  and  her  sister  were  alone. 

"  Who  is  it  from  ?  "  asked  Bell. 

Eifie  turned  round,  with  her  face  slightly  flushed, 
and  said — 

"  John  Gilbert." 

"  John  Gilbert ! " 

"  Yes ;  and  it  is  impertinent,"  said  Eflie.  "  More  than 
that,  he  has  enclosed  it  to  some  one  to  post,  and  com- 
promised me.  Who  in  the  world  can  he  have  sent  it  to, 
do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  even  guess,"  said  Bell,  astonished  at  her 
sister's  change  of  mood.  "  Do  you  mean  to  answer  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Eflie,  tossing  the  letter  into 
the  fire. 

12* 


274  QUIXSTAK. 

"  I'm  glad  that's  over, "  said  Bell. 

"  It  is  time  it  was  over, "  said  Effie  indignantly. 

"  John  is  not  so  fortunate,"  Bell  said,  "  as  the  man 
who  threw  off  his  friends  as  a  huntsman  his  pack,  for  he 
knew  when  he  liked  he  could  whistle  them  back." 

"  He  seems  to  have  thought  that  though,  but  he'll 
never  whistle  me  back." 

Bell,  while  she  was  devoutly  glad  that  this  unfortunate 
episode  was  over,  was  as  much  surprised  as  glad.  She 
would  have  expected  that  John's  writing,  his  mere  hand- 
writing, whatever  he  might  have  said,  would  have  been 
meat  and  drink  to  Effie :  that  she  would  cling  to  him 
through  everything,  but  it  seemed  that  happily  she  was 
mistaken. 

When,  the  Sinclair's  went  home  they  were  escorted 
by  George  Raeburn,  Mr.  Jlaeburn's  second  son,  who  was 
young,  good-looking,  and  a  partner  in  his  father's  very 
lucrative  business.  Mrs.  Sinclair  threw  no  obstacle  in 
the  way  of  his  crossing  the  threshold  of  Old  Battle 
House  and  recrossing  it,  but  when  he  had  seen  the  young 
ladies  safely  under  their  mother's  wing  he  went  direct 
to  his  aunt's,  Miss  Raeburn's. 

There  he  flung  himself  on  a  sofa  and  said,  "  Aunt,  I 
want  your  help.  You'll  help  me  to  get  that  girl  for 
my  wife  ?  " 

"  Miss  Sinclair,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  You'll  help  me  ?  " 

"  That  I  will  not.  It's  a  case  in  which  a  man  ought 
to  help  himself.  I'll  not  hinder  you,  though.  Besides, 
if  Bell  thought  you  needed  help  of  mine,  and  had  asked 
it,  she  wouldn't  have  you.  She  likes  people  that  can 
help  themselves." 

"  Bell,  did  you  say  ?      It's  Effie  I  want." 

"  Oh,  it's  Effie  !  That's  different.   Certainly  there's  no 


QUIXSTAK.  275 

accounting  for  tastes.  Why,  she  can't  hold  the  candle 
to  Bell." 

"  Candle  or  not,  I  never  cared  for  any  one  in  the 
world  as  I  care  for  Effie." 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  you  need  despair.  Bell's 
knight  might  have  to  win  his  spurs,  but  if  you  want  my 
candid  opinion,  I  think  Effie  might  be  had  for  the  pick- 
ing up." 

"  Has  she  no  lovers  already  ?  Such  a  creature  as  she 
must  have  lovers." 

"  She  has  one,  I  suspect." 

"  Oh  dear,"  groaned  the  youth. 

"  But  he  is  afflicted  with  a  fell  disease — " 

"  He  must  be  intensely  selfish  then  to  think  of 
marrying." 

"  A  fell  disease,  known  among  the  children  of  men 
as  impecuniosity ;  but  Effie  has  money,  and  not  little. 
She  would  not  be  deprived  of  the  necessaries  of  life 
though  she  married  him." 

"  Do  you  know  what  she  thinks  of  him — how  she 
feels?" 

"  Not  in  the  least,  but  I  can  guess  how  her  mother 
feels  if  she  knows  of  it — bitterly,  I  am  sure." 

"  Effie  is  a  gentle,  sensitive  creature ;  she  will  be 
guided  by  her  mother." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Miss  Raeburn,  "  you  can  wait 
and  see." 

"  Yes,  I  must  wait ;  if  I  were  too  sudden  I  might  do 
more  ill  than  good." 

"  And  how  long  are  you  going  to  wait  ?  " 

"  Till  I  see  I  am  sure  of  success.  No  woman  shall 
ever  refuse  me," 

"  That  is  to  say,  to  save  your  pride,  you'll  put  her  in 
the  position  you'll  not  put  yourself  in  ;  she  must  as  good 


276  QUIXSTAR. 

as  say  yes  before  she  is  asked.  If  she's  worth  having, 
she  won't  do  it ;  but  I  wish  you  success  in  your  wooing." 
"  That's  why  you  are  not  married,"  George  said 
to  himself.  He  thought  he  was  wiser  than  his  aunt, 
which  perhaps  he  was,  and  he  carried  on  his  courtship 
that  winter  after  his  own  plan,  not  impetuously  nor  con- 
spicuously till  he  judged  the  fruit  ripe  enough  to  pull, 
when  he  pulled  it,  and  it  toppled  into  his  hand  very 
prettily,  the  parent  tree  making  no  resistance  to  being 
thus  despoiled  of  one  of  its  ornaments ;  but,  for  various 
good  reasons,  the  marriage  was  not  to  take  place  till 
the  close  of  summer.  Every  one  was  pleased  with  this 
arrangement;  it  carried  pain  to  one  heart  only.  Mrs. 
Gilbert  thought  of  her  son — not  that  it  could  be  said 
there  was  a  time  when  she  did  not  think  of  him,  sleep- 
ing and  waking  he  was  in  her  mind.  She  had  been 
jealous  of  his  love  to  this  girl ;  now  she  was  jealous  for 
him  ;  so  soon  and  so  utterly  forgotten  ;  but  though  he 
was  her  son,  Mrs.  Gilbert  was  just.  Effie,  she  allowed, 
was  right  to  forget  him  if  she  could,  and  it  appeared  she 
could.  His  mother  could  not;  the  form  of  the  child, 
the  boy,  the  man,  seemed  to  be  continually  passing  the 
window  where  she  sat ;  but  he  was  not  there ;  he  was 
afloat  on  a  rough  world,  away  out  of  her  reach,  possibly 
ill  or  in  want,  and  a  tremendous  yearning  of  love  came 
over  her,  followed  by  a  sterner  mood,  when  she  thought 
of  his  heartlessness  in  going;  in  never  writing;  in 
writing  that  mere  husk  of  a  letter,  and  for  a  moment 
her  reason  judged  him  as  if  he  had  been  another  wom- 
an's son.  "  Ah,"  she  thought,  "  I  was  unutterably  thank- 
ful for  his  life  when  James  Kaeburn  was  drowned — how 
blind  we  are,  how  blind  !  "  It  was  a  terrible  thing  to 
see  as  clearly  as  she  saw,  and  love  as  deeply  as  she 
loved ;  but,  Mr.  Gilbert  appearing  at  the  garden  gate, 


QUIXSTAR.  277 

her  face  smoothed,  and  her  voice  cleared,  and  she  was 
ready  to  pick  out  the  little  thorns  that  gathered  daily 
in  his  path.  "  Your  mother,"  he  sometimes  remarked  to 
Mary,  "  has  got  pretty  well  over  John's  departure.  To 
be  sure  it  was  a  greater  disappointment  and  loss  to  me 
than  to  her.  Well,  he'll  be  coming  home  some  day 
with  a  fortune." 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE  same  law  which  causes  an  apple  to  fall,  keeps 
the  planets  in  their  places,  and  fills  all  the  little  curves 
of  a  coast  with  a  tide  of  waters,  as  well  as  the  great  bays 
where  the  navies  of  the  world  may  float.  As  apples  to 
planets  are  the  persons  of  this  story,  as  curves  to  bays 
the  place  where  they  played  their  parts,  but  the  same 
laws  governed  them  as  govern  greater  people  in  greater 
places.  The  autobiographies  of  men  of  mark  reveal  a . 
sad  but  most  complete  family  resemblance  in  the  rise, 
progress,  and  continuation  of  their  quarrels  to  that  which 
takes  place  among  smaller  men. 

About  the  time  Mr.  Doubleday  was  rescued  from 
his  melancholy  circumstances,  the  cloud  the  size  of  a 
man's  hand,  that  Miss  Raeburn  alluded  to  in  her  letter 
to  Bell,  arose. 

Mr.  Sinclair  was  sitting  by  his  fire  reading  one  sulky 
November  day,  when  a  person  wishing  to  see  him  was 
shown  into  his  room.  He  was  a  little  rough-and-ready- 
looking  man,  with  glittering  eyes  and  weather-beaten 
face ;  wearing  a  shaggy  coat  buttoned  up  to  his  neck  ; 
the  sleeves  of  a  sad-colored  flannel  shirt  appeared  at  his 
wrists,  and  his  gloveless  hands  looked  hard  and  dry  and 
not  over  clean;  the  thumbs  were  unmercifully  bent  back, 
as  if  each  had  swallowed  a  dose  of  strychnine  on  its  own 
account.  He  put  his  hat  on  the  table  and  sat  down.  If 
his  manner  had  been  of  the  subdued  and  resigned  order 


QUIXSTAR.  279 

you  would  have  expected  him  to  open  down  a  bundle 
of  soiled  and  miscellaneous  stationery  for  inspection  and 
purchase,  but  it  was  not ;  he  seated  himself  like  a  man 
and  an  equal. 

"  My  name  is  Miller,"  he  said,  "  Miller  from  Iron- 
burgh."  Mr.  Sinclair  did  not  look  as  if  he  felt  striking- 
ly enlightened.  "  I  used  to  know  you  by  sight,  sir,  when 
you  lived  in  Ironburgh ;  that's  a  good  many  years  since 
now.  You'll  find  it  slow  here,  I  should  say,  sir  ?  I 
have  a  note  of  introduction  to  you,  sir,"  and  he  handed 
it  to  Mr.  Sinclair.  "  It's  from  Mr.  Duncan ;  you  knew 
Mr.  Duncan,  I  think?" 

"  Yes,  I  knew  him  very  well." 

The  note  ran  thus :— "  DEAR  SIR, — Mr.  Miller  is  a 
worthy  man,  help  him  if  you  can. — I  am,  yours  truly, 
J.  DuisrcAsr." 

Mr.  Sinclair  looked  up  and  said,  "  Well  ?  " 

"  The  fact  is,  sir,  I  am  a  deputation  from  a  Society 
in  Ironburgh — The  Rational  Relaxation  Society,  it  is 
called ;  our  object  is  to  promote  the  well-being  of  the 
working  classes.  People,  sir,  must  have  amusement, 
it  is  a  craving  implanted  in  us  by  the  Creator.  They 
get  it  in  many  ways  questionable,  or  positively  bad  ;  our 
object  is  to  beat  bad  forms  of  it  out  of  the  field  by  pro- 
viding what  are  good  and  innocent ;  we  are  of  no  party, 
sect,  or  denomination,  but  we  think  we  are  the  hand- 
maids of  religion." 

"  What  do  you  do  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  Well,  we  do  a  number  of"  things.  We  select  a 
place,' say  Quixstar;  we  have  meetings,  we  get  hold  of 
the  young  men,  we  elicit  native  talent,  we  have  industri- 
al exhibitions,  we  have  lectures  illustrated  by  diagrams 
of  all  parts  of  the  globe  ;  in  winter  we  may  have  a  pop- 
ular exhibition  of  astronomy,  in  summer  botany  with 


280  QUIXSTAR. 

open-air  excursions,  and  so  on.  We  vary  things  as  we 
see  cause." 

"  If  people  are  interested — "  Mr.  Sinclair  began. 

"  They  are  interested,  sir ;  greatly  interested.  There 
are  millions  of  good  minds  that  never  awake  in  this 
world  because  there  is  no  one  to  knock  them  up.  That's 
our  business — to  knock  up  sleeping  intellect.  Not  an 
inglorious  mission,  I  should  say,  sir  ?  " 

Now,  it  might  almost  have  been  taken  for  granted 
that  Mr.  Sinclair,  having  a  contempt  for  humbug  and  a 
dislike  to  newfangled  panaceas,  would  have  snuffed  Mr. 
Miller  and  his  Rational  Relaxations  out  on  the  spot. 
He- was  not  a  public-spirited  man ;  and  to  be  tied  to  the 
tail  of  a  noisy  society  was  not  much  to  his  taste — quite 
the  contrary ;  but  by  the  time  a  man — that  is,  a  good 
man — comes  to  be  as  old  as  Mr.  Sinclair,  he  becomes 
less  selfish,  more  pitiful,  far  less  harsh,  and  more  lenient 
in  his  judgments,  and  thinks  twice  before  he  stamps  out 
an  effort  for  the  good  of  his  fellow-men  ;  although,  as  we 
will  see,  there  was  quite  enough  of  the  old  Adam  in  Mr. 
Sinclair  even  yet. 

"  You  may  do  good,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Miller,  "  and 
there  is  plenty  of  room  for  it." 

"  There's  one  thing  we  want,  to  begin  with,"  said 
the  deputy,  "  and  that  is  a  place  to  have  a  meeting  in." 

"  Why,  there's  Mr.  Gilbert's  schoolroom.  You  can't 
get  a  better  place  than  that." 

Quixstar  was  not  overdone  with  accommodation  of 
this  kind.  There  was  a  large  hall  or  room  in  the  princi- 
pal inn,  which  was  used  for  public  occasions,  but 'at  this 
precise  time  it  was  undergoing  repair,  after  having  been 
nearly  destroyed  by  fire. 

"  No  better,"  said  Mr.  Miller  ;  "  but  we  can't  get  it." 

"  Not  get  it !     Does  Mr.  Gilbert  object  ?  " 


QUIXSTAR.  281 

"  No,  but  Mr.  Kennedy  does.  I  have  been  at  him 
both  last  night  and  this  morning." 

"  There  must  be  some  mistake,  surely,"^  said  Mr. 
Sinclair. 

"No  mistake  that  we're  not  to  get  it.  He's  the 
toughest  old  chap  I've  met  for  a  while." 

"  He  is  a  personal  friend  of  mine.  He  has  not  under- 
stood fully.  I  have  no  doubt  a  word  from  me  will  set 
matters  straight." 

"  Well,  sir,  if  you  think  so — " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so ;  and  you  may  make  any  arrange- 
ments necessary,  in  the  certainty  of  getting  the  school- 
room." 

His  visitor  being  gone,  Mr.  Sinclair  wrote  to  Mr. 
Kennedy : — 

"  MY  DEAE  SIR, — I  have  just  had  a  young  man  with 
me  who  tells  me  he  has  seen  you  about  getting  the 
schoolroom  to  hold  a  meeting  in,  and  that  you  refused 
it.  Allow  me  to  vouch  for  the  good  intentions  of  the 
society  he  represents,  and  for  his  own  respectability,  in 
which  case  you  will  not  hesitate  to  grant  the  use  of 
the  schoolroom.  I  will  take  it  as  a  personal  favor. — I 
am,  dear  sir,  yours  very  truly,  A.  SINCLAIR." 

To  which  Mr.  Kennedy  : — 

"  My  DEAR  SIR, — I  wish  you  had  asked  any  other 
favor  within  my  power  ;  I  would  have  been  too  happy 
to  oblige  you.  I  don't  doubt  the  respectability  of  the 
young  man  who  called  here ;  but  he  should  attend  to 
the  proverb, '  Let  the  shoemaker  stick  to  his  last.'  I  am 
sorry  to  repeat  my  refusal,  as  I  would  do  anything  to 
oblige  you  personally. — I  am,  dear  sir,  yours  truly, 

"JAMES  KENNEDY." 


282  QUIXSTAR. 

Mr.  Sinclair  rejoined  : — 

"  DEAR  SIR, — I  hope  you  will  reconsider  your  de- 
cision. I  think  you  will  allow  that  the  proposed  meet- 
ing is  at  least  an  innocent  thing.  I  am  sure  that  the 
humbler  portion  of  your  parishioners  would  enjoy  such 
an  evening's  entertainment  as  this  society  proposes  to 
give  us ;  and  if  you  will  look  into  the  matter  for  a  mo- 
ment, although  your  own  views  may  be  a  little  different 
on  some  points,  you  will  hardly  throw  obstacles  in  their 
way. — I  am,  sir,  your  most  obedient  servant, 

"A.  SINCLAIR." 

Mr.  Kennedy  put  this  last  missive  in  his  pocket,  and 
going  out,  looked  in  on  Miss  Raeburn  by  the  way,  and 
showed  her  Mr.  Sinclair's  notes,  telling  her  how  he  had 
replied  to  them. 

"  Think  of  Mr.  Sinclair  sending  me  a  second  applica- 
tion," he  said,  "  as  if  I  were  a  fool,  and  wrote  without 
consideration,  or  did  not  know  my  own  mind  !  He'll 
find  his  mistake." 

"  But  why  don't  you  let  them  have  the  schoolroom, 
Mr.  Kennedy  ?  What  great  harm  could  it  do  ?  "  asked 
Miss  Raeburn. 

"  Establish  a  precedent  for  one  thing — a  bad  prece- 
dent. Why,  the  Mormons  would  be  wanting  it  next 
to  make  my  parish  a  recruiting-ground  for  the  Great 
Salt  Lake." 

"  Hardly,"  said  Miss  Raeburn. 

"  Then,  set  a  lot  of  people  in  this  parish  spouting 
and  thinking  they  can  settle  the  nation,  and  where  is 
it  to  stop  ?  Intelligent,  forsooth  !  a  parcel  of  block- 
heads !  " 

"  Now  I  think  you  hard  on  us,  Mr.  Kennedy." 


QUIXSTAR.  283 

"  Not  too  hard.  Besides,  I  know  Sir  Richard  would 
be  as  averse  to  giving  the  schoolroom  for  any  such  pur- 
pose as  I  am." 

"'Is  Mr.  Gilbert  agreeable  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Gilbert ! "  said  Mr.  Kennedy,  in  a  tone  which 
Mr.  Gilbert  might  count  it  one  of  his  many  mercies  that 
he  did  not  hear — it  would  have  unhinged  him  for  a  fort- 
night. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Gilbert ;  he  is  in  possession,  and  posses- 
sion is  nine  points  of  the  law.  If  I  were  you,  Mr.  Ken- 
nedy, I  would  not  only  let  them  have  the  schoolroom,  I 
would  head  the  movement.  Take  it  in  your  own  hands, 
and  you  may  direct  and  mould  it." 

"  But  I  highly  disapprove  of  it,  Miss  Raeburn.  Any 
intelligent  man  that  wants  to  improve  himself  can  easily 
get  a  book — I  am  always  glad  to  lend  books  myself — 
and  sit  in  his  own  house  and  read, — a  far  more  likely 
means  to  the  end  than  running  to  so-called  entertain- 
ments." 

"  If  a  man  can  read  he  will  do.  He  has  his  entertain- 
ment in  his  own  hand ;  but  what  about  the  people  who 
won't  read,  and  want  entertainment  ?  " 

"  The  best  thing  they  can  do  is  to  go  to  bed  early, 
and  they'll  rise  the  fresher  for  their  day's  work." 

"  I  once  told  such  a  torpid  man  as  that  system  pro- 
duces that  it  was  thought  possible  the  stars  were  inhab- 
ited, and  he  said  to  me  afterwards  that  he  never  slept 
all  night  thinking  of  it." 

"  Well,  did  the  suggesting  df  such  a  speculation  do 
him  any  good,  or  would  his  night's  rest  not  have  been 
better  for  him  ?  " 

"If  you  can  make  a  man  think  beyond  his  daily 
round  you  have  done  a  good  thing,  Mr.  Kennedy." 

"  But  even  your  thinking  men,  what  do  they  make 


284  QUIXSTAR. 

of  it?  Peter  Veitch,  for  instance,  who  is  not  the  least 
intelligent  of  his  class — " 

"  My  old  friend  Peter  the  gardener  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  had  an  account  sent  me  by  him  some  'time 
ago.  The  spelling  is  the  most  original  thing  you  ever 
saw — laughable." 

"  Not  a  bit  laughable,  except  to  the  eye.  If  you  un- 
derstood his  meaning  the  end  was  served.  Spelling  is 
a  mere  conventionalism.  It  may  be  as  well  that  people 
should  all  spell  alike,  but  I  would  never  measure  a  man's 
mind  by  his  spelling.  If  I  had  left  school  at  ten  years 
old  like  Peter,  and  done  a  hard  day's  work  every  day 
since,  I  would  never  have  attempted  to  spell  at  all,  like- 
ly. Culture  has  not  come  Peter's  way,  except  with  the 
spade,  yet  he  thinks  for  himself,  and  is  not  generally  far 
wrong,  but  he  has  no  instinct  for  the  niceties  of  spelling, 
and  I  sympathize  with  him.  I've  never  been  able  to 
spell  myself. 

"  Indeed.  Well,  you  see  Peter  has  got  creditably 
through  life  without  being  entertained  in  the  evening. 
I'm  going  home  to  write  to  Mr.  Sinclair.  As  long  ago 
as  when  he  came  I  had  a  presentiment  he  would  work 
mischief,  and  I'm  not  often  mistaken." 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

As  Miss  Raeburn  watched  Mr.  Kennedy's  retreat- 
ing figure  she  said  to  herself, "  It's  a  pity  they  should 
quarrel,  and  about  nothing." 

It  is  always  a  marvellous  pity  when  people  quarrel. 
A  quarrel  is  like  that  abominable  weed  the  dandelion : 
allowed  to  flourish,  it  gives  off  noxious  seeds  allround  ; 
cut  down,  it  leaves  roots  of  bitterness  that  can  hardly 
be  dug  out. 

Mr.  Kennedy  wrote  to  Mr.  Sinclair  again : — 

"  SIR, — I  have  no  occasion  to  reconsider  my  decision. 
I  never  decide,  even  on  trifling  matters,  without  full  con- 
sideration. 

"  My  views  diifer  on  every  point  from  those  of  Mr. 
Miller  and  his  society.  I  am  as  anxious  for  the  welfare 
of  the  working  classes  as  you  can  be,  but  to  unsettle 
their  minds  and  raise  tastes  they  can  have  no  means  of 
gratifying  is  not,  in  my  humble  opinion,  the  way  to  im- 
prove them. — I  am,  etc.,  J.  KENNEDY." 

Mr.  Sinclair  wrote  yet  again : — 

"  SIR, — If  you  really  have  duly  considered  the  mat- 
ter, I  am  entirely  at  a  loss  to  know  what  reasons  have 
influenced  you  in  persisting  in  your  refusal  to  give  this 
society  the  use  of  the  schoolroom  for  an  evening  or  two. 
I  suppose  it  is  hopeless  to  urge  the  request, — I  am,  etc., 

"A.  SINCLAIR." 


286  QUIXSTAR. 

"  Mr.  Kennedy  begs  to  inform  Mr.  Sinclair  that  he 
has  received  his  note,  which  hi  his  opinion  does  not  call 
for  a  reply." 

Just  as  Mr.  Kennedy  sent  off  this  epistle — the  last 
shot — one  of  the  young  Smiths  paid  him  a  visit,  and  Mr. 
Kennedy  being  full  of  the  affair  spoke  of  nothing  else, 
and  read  the  correspondence  between  himself  and  Mr. 
Sinclair.  Mr.  Smith  thought  the  whole  thing  very  laugh- 
able, and  when  he  left  Mr.  Kennedy  he  sat  down  and 
whipped  up  an  airy  Punchified  article,  in  which  he  in- 
serted the  letters  of  Mr.  Kennedy  and  Mr.  Sinclair  ver- 
batim, and  sent  it  to  the  MicMleburgh  and  Quixstar  Ob- 
server, the  local  organ. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair  a  day  or  two  after,  as  she 
finished  her  usual  morning  researches  among  the  news- 
papers, "  well  Bell,  your  uncle  has  certainly  come  out 
at  last.  Just  look  at  this." 

Bell  glanced  over  Mr.  Smith's  article.  "  I  wonder 
who  did  that  ?  "  she  said.  "  It  is  clever,  but  it  will  vex 
uncle.  Would  it  do  to  put  away  the  paper,  and  not  let 
him  see  it  ?  " 

Before  Mrs.  Sinclair  could  answer  Mr.  Sinclair  ap- 
peared, and  she  immediately  said,  "  Bell  wants  to  keep 
that  paper  out  of  your  way  for  fear  of  vexing  you;  but 
I  think  if  you  like  to  mix  yourself  up  in  a  thing  like  that 
you  must  just  take  the  consequences." 

"Mr.  Sinclair  read  the  article,  while  Mrs.  Sinclair 
and  her  daughter  were  discussing  a  letter  from  Erne, 
who  was  on  a  visit  to  the  mother  of  her  betrothed. 

"  Ay,  Bell,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair  softly,  for  he  was  touch- 
ed by  this  little  evidence  of  his  niece's  consideration  for 
him,  "  so  you  thought  I  could  not  stand  that  ?  I  can 
stand  that,  and  a  great  deal  more  than  that,  yet  I  think 


QUIXSTAR.  287 

it  is  a  very  ill-advised  thing  of  Kennedy  to  publish  such 
an  article." 

"  But,  uncle,  Mr.  Kennedy  never  wrote  it.  He  could 
not  do  anything  like  that." 

"  No ;  but  he  empowered  some  one  to  do  it,  else  how 
could  the  letters  have  been  given  ?  " 

"  It's  my  opinion,  Adam,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair — "  only 
you  never  ask  my  opinion, — that  you  had  much  better 
have  let  the  thing  alone.  Within  my  memory  the  work- 
ing classes  neither  had  relaxation  nor  entertainment, 
and  you  got  really  good  devoted  servants,  who  stuck 
to  their  work  and  made  that  their  entertainment.  You 
don't  get  such  servants  now  that  there  is  a  constant  crav- 
ing for  change  and  excitement." 

"  It's  a  puzzle  to  me,"  said  Bell.  "  I  would  like 
every  one  to  be  cultivated  and  refined,  and  to  have  as 
much  enjoyment  in  life  as  I  have;  but,  then,  who  would 
do  the  dirty  work  ?  I  would  revolt  from  it,  and  any 
one  educated  as  I  have  been  would,  and  yet  it  must  be 
done ;  and  even  work  that  is  not  dirty  is  often  fright- 
fully heavy  and  monotonous.  When  we  went  to  see 
Mr.  Doubleday  off,  the  steamer  was  behind  its  time  in 
sailing,  and  we  waited  On  board.  I  watched  two  men 
loading  the  next  ship  with  pig  iron.  One  on  the  quay 
fixed  a  rope  round  so  many  bars  of  iron,  swung  the 
crane  round,  and  lowered  the  iron  into  the  hold.  The 
man  in  the  hold  put  the  iron  in  its  place,  and  sent  up  the 
rope.  That  went  on  without  variation  the  entire  day  I 
suppose.  Even  to  look  at  the  monotony  was  weaiisome. 
The  men  were  beginning  to  get  old,  and  they  had  kindly, 
patient  Scotch  faces ;  no  want  of  mind  in  them.  In  my 
circumstances  these  men  might  have  shone;  and  here 
am  I,  with  every  privilege,  and  I  don't  shine.  Why  should 
they  be  there,  and  I  here?  There  is  no  end  to  puzzles/' 


288  QUIXSTAR. 

"  None,"  said  her  uncle  ;  "  meantime  we  must  do  what 
we  can.  I  don't  suppose  all  we'll  attempt  here  will 
make  the  people  victims  of  culture,  but  it  may  give 
them  an  idea  of  something  higher  and  better  than  mere 
animal  enjoyment. — By  the  bye,  I  had  a  call  from  Peter 
Veitch  last  night." 

"  What  did  old  Peter  want  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

"  It  was  not  old  Peter ;  it  was  his  son,  the  sailor." 

"  And  does  he  resume  his  mathematical  studies  with 
you  ?  " 

"  No ;  he  is  only  to  be  here  a  day  or  two.  He  is  cap- 
tain now  ;  he  has  got  a  fine  ship  to  command,  one  of  a 
line  between  Liverpool  and  Melbourne." 

"  The  old  people  will  be  proud,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair. 
"  He'll  be  quite  by  way  of  a  gentleman  now." 

"  Peter  was  born  a  gentleman,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair. 
"  He  is  one  of  Bell's  puzzles." 

"  My  puzzle  ?  "  said  Bell,  with  a  terrible  conscious- 
ness, and  wondering  what  her  uncle  meant. 

"  Yes ;  he  should  have  been  born  in  a  palace,  and  he 
was  born  in  a  cottage." 

When  Mr.  Sinclair  left  the  breakfast-table  he  said  to 
Bell, "  I  would  like  if  you  would  come  to  my  room  for 
a  little  when  you  are  ready ;  there's  no  hurry." 

This  was  an  unusual  request.  What  could  he  want  ? 
Could  it  be  anything  about  Peter  Veitch  ?  Bell  thought, 
and  blushed,  and  felt  ashamed  of  her  own  silliness,  re- 
membering the  proverb,  "As  the  fool  thinks  the  bell 
clinks."  She  went  to  her  uncle's  room,  not  without  some 
perturbation,  and  was  thankful  (as  people  often  are)  that 
no  one  knew  her  thoughts  but  herself. 

Her  uncle  said,  "  Come  here,  I  want  to  show  you 
these,"  and  he  unrolled  some  papers  that  were  lying 
near  him  on  the  table. 


QUIXSTAR.  289 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  as  the  schoolroom  can't  be  had 
for  any  purpose  except  such  as  Mr.  Kennedy  approves, 
I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  build  a  hall,  and  have 
got  the  plans  here." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Bell,  suddenly  recovering  the  full  use  of 
her  senses.  "And  have  you  got  a  site  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  got  that  too,  and  a  very  good  one ; 
but  do  you  approve  of  the  thing — of  its  being  done  at 
all?" 

"  I  have  not  had  time  to  think." 

"  Take  time." 

"  It's  a  thing  that's  much  needed  here — it  will  be  a 
public  good." 

"  That's  what  I  think,  and  I  mean  to  make  it  com- 
plete." Here  he  was  interrupted  by  the  room-door  being 
opened  and  a  visitor  coming  in.  Bell  was  standing  at 
the  table  with  her  back  to  the  door;  turning  round  to 
see  who  entered,  she  met  Peter  Veitch.  Both  were 
taken  by  surprise,  so  much  so  that  their  greeting  was 
rather  constrained,  and  Mr.  Sinclair  looking  on  said, 
"  Surely  you've  met  before  since  you  were  at  school  ? 
Bell,  you  know  Peter  Veitch?  "  "  Can  it  be  possible," 
he  thought,  "  that  she  is  of  her  .mother's  opinion,  and 
does  not  think  he  is  good  enough  company  for  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  Peter  very  well,  but  I  did  not 
expect  to  see  him  here." 

"  Roll  out  the  plans  then,  Bell,"  said  her  uncle,  "  and 
I'll  get  Peter's  opinion  of  them  as  well  as  yours." 

"  Plans  of  what  ?  "   asked  Peter. 

"  Did  you  see  the  Middleburgh  and  Quixstar  Ob- 
server this  morning  ?  "  Bell  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  saw  it,"  said  Peter,  "  and  I  know  so  little  of 
the  people  here  now,  that  I  could  not  even  guess  who 
wrote  yon  article." 
13 


290  QUIXSTAR. 

"  It  was  not  written  without  Mr.  Kennedy's  knowl- 
edge, that's  clear,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair  with  emphasis; 
"  and  I,  for  one,  don't  envy  him  the  authorship." 

"  From  seeming  evil  still  educing  good,"  said  Bell. 
"  Uncle  is  going  to  build  a  hall  to  make  us  independent 
in  all  time  coming,  and  here  are  the  plans ;  will  you  look 
at  them?" 

The  three  drew  their  chairs  to  the  table,  and  Mr. 
Sinclair  went  into  his  plans  really  with  enthusiasm, 
while  his  two  young  friends  did  not  listen  with  the  pro- 
found attention  they  might  have  done ;  the  great  and 
the  little  problems  of  life  had  suddenly  disappeared, 
and  they  were  conscious  only  of  being  together. 

"  Well,  now  that  I  have  explained  them  all  to  you 
fully,  "what  do  you  think  of  them  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Sinclair, 
with  the  tone  of  a  man  who  feels  he  has  done  his  best. 

"  Nothing  could  be  better,"  said  Peter,  cloaking  his 
ignorance  in  vagueness. 

"  Which  of  them  could  not  be  better  ? "  said  Mr. 
Sinclair,  "  which  of  the  three  plans  ?  " 

Knowing  nearly  as  much  of  them  as  when  he  sat 
down,  Peter  was  rather  at  a  loss,  but  thinking  that  Mr. 
Sinclair  had  dilated  more  on  the  merits  of  No.  2  than 
the  others,  he  said.  "  Taking  everything  into  considera- 
tion, I  should  be  inclined  to  give  the  preference  to 
No.  2." 

"  And  you,  Bell  ?  "  said  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  That's  what  I  think  too." 

"  Then,  I  think  you  are  both  right,  according  to  my 
judgment.  It  is  neither  too  plain  nor  too  ornamental, 
and  it  is  commodious.  Well,  I  think  we've  spent  time 
enough  over  them,"  looking  at  his  watch.  "  I'll  take  a 
walk  with  you,  Peter,  if  you  have  nothing  better  to  do. 
I  dare  say,  Bell,  you're  tired  of  us." 


QUIXSTAR.  291 

It  was  too  tantalizing  the  cutting  short  of  this  un- 
looked-for meeting,  but  Mr.  Sinclair  had  no  notion  of 
his  own  cruelty,  not  the  slightest,  he  was  as  innocent  as 
possible.  He  went  into  the  lobby  to  get  his  hat  and 
coat,  and  Peter  was  idiotic  enough  to  let  that  mo- 
mentary opportunity  pass  without  saying  a  word,  from 
sheer  want  of  the  necessary  impudence ;  by  the  time, 
though,  that  he  had  walked  to  the  gate  with  Mr.  Sin- 
clair, the  thought  that  he  would  be  away  many  months, 
that  when  he  came  back  he  might  hear  of  Bell's  mar- 
riage then,  as  he  had  heard  of  her  sister's  now,  gave  him 
the  courage  of  desperation,  and  he  said  to  Mr.  Sinclair : — 

"  I'll  be  back  immediately.  I  want  to  speak  to  Miss 
Sinclair." 

It  could  not  occur  to  him  to  use  any  subterfuge  to 
say  he  had  left  something  behind,  and  he  returned  to 
the  house,  and  going  straight  in,  he  met  Mrs.  Sinclair  in 
the  passage.  They  exchanged  some  sort  of  greeting, 
and  she  said-^ 

"  Have  you  forgotten  anything  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  want  to  speak  to  Miss  -  Sinclair,"  he 
said. 

"  I'll  take  any  message.     She's  engaged,  I  think." 

"  Oh,  not  much  engaged,  mamma,"  said  Bell,  emerg- 
ing from  her  uncle's  room.  "  I'll  go  with  you  to  the 
gate,  Peter,"  she  said,  taking  a  shawl  from  the  lobby- 
stand. 

"  Let  me  put  that  on,"  he  said  ;  "  I'm  accustomed  to 
unfurling  sails,  you  know,"  and  he  threw  it  round  her 
shoulders. 

They  stepped  out  of  the  house. 

"  Bell,"  he  said  hurriedly,"  I  can't  do  things  smooth- 
ly, or  in  a  civilized  fashion,  but  make  allowances.  I'll 
be  away  for  months — say  you  won't  forget  me." 


292  QUIXSTAR. 

They  were  just  at  the  gate,  where  Mr.  Sinclair  was 
waiting. 

"  No,"  she  said,  as  they  shook  hands,  "  I  will  not." 
Peter  felt  light  in  the  head,  and  answered  Mr.  Sin- 
clair's remarks  rather  at  random.     Bell  stood  a  minute 
or  two  fastening  the  gate  very  securely,  then  walked 
round  the  garden  unconscious  of  every  external  thing. 

"  Oh,  how  this  spring  of  love  resembleth 
The  uncertain  glory  of  an  April  day, 
Which  now  shows  all  the  beauty  of  the  sun, 
And  by  and  by  a  cloud  takes  all  away." 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

MR.  SINCLAIR'S  intentions  were  soon  public  prop- 
erty. In  the  newspapers  appeared  this  paragraph: — 

"  QUIXSTAR. — "We  understand  that  the  wealthy  and 
philanthropic  Mr.  Sinclair  of  Quixstar  has  secured  a  site 
on  which  he  means  to  erect  a  hall  and  other  accommoda- 
tion, including  library  and  reading-room,  for  the  use  of 
the  people  of  Quixstar.  The  plans  have  already  been 
drawn  out  by  the  eminent  architects  Messrs.  Black  and 
White  of  Eastburgh,  and  we  have  had  the  pleasure  of 
inspecting  them  at  their  office.  The  design  is  at  once 
substantial  and  elegant.  Too  much  praise  cannot  be 
awarded  to  the  noble  and  public-spirited  gentleman  who 
has  thus  come  forward  at  once  to  supply  a  long  felt 
want,  and  to  add  an  interesting  and  ornamental  feature 
to  the  town." 

Some  men  enjoy  having  their  trumpet  blown,  and,  on 
an  occasion  such  as  this,  could  move  in  their  little  sphere 
to  the  music  of  it,  thoroughly  convinced  that  they  were 
doing  a  great  public  good  from  exalted  motives.  Mr. 
Sinclair  was  not  so  blind.  He  believed  that  the  hall 
would  be  a  benefit  to  the  place,  but  he  also  knew  that 
to  benefit  the  place  was  not  his  chief  motive ;  he  had 
determined  not  to  be  baulked  by  Mr.  Kennedy.  If  it 
was  a  good  work  he  had  certainly  been  provoked  to  it 
— taking  the  modern  sense  of  that  word — and  felt  hum- 
bled in  his  own  eyes,  and  he  was  annoyed  at  the  para- 


294  QUIXSTAR. 

graph  and  the  writer  of  it,  who  was  wholly  unknown  to 
him. 

Mr.  Kennedy  on  reading  it  at  once  attributed  the 
authorship  to  Mr.  Sinclair,  and  was  seized  with  a  deep 
and  subtle  pity  for  the  man  reduced  to  the  abject  shift 
of  puffing  himself. 

Even  the  eyes  of  the  inhabitants  of  Cranstoun  Hall 
fell  on  this  paragraph,  and  it  was  a  subject  of  remark  at 
luncheon  on  the  day  of  its  appearance. 

"  Sinclair,"  said  Sir  Richard ;  "  Sinclair ;  that's  the 
retired  tobacconist,  isn't  it,  that  got  that  mole  catcher  for 
me  ?  Knew  him,  I  suppose,  from  filling  his  snuff-box 
for  him.  The  man  must  have  more  money  than  he 
knows  what  to  do  with." 

"  Of  what  possible  use  can  a  public  hall  be  in  Quix- 
star  ?  "  asked  Lady  Cranstoun. 

"  It  is  to  be  used  for  the  elevation  of  the  working 
classes,"  said  her  eldest  son ;  "  to  make  them  happy,  in- 
telligent, and  so  on." 

"  They  are  certainly  not  very  intelligent,"  said  Lady 
Winkworth,  who  hadMropped  in  to  luncheon ;  "  at  least 
I  don't  find  them  so." 

"  Don't  you  ?  "  said  Mr.  Cranstoun.  "  What  subjects 
have  you  tried  them  on,  Lady  Winkworth  ?  " 

"  They  were  the  wives  of  working  men  that  I  have 
called  for  chiefly,  and  I  only  tried  to  give  them  some 
hints  about  cookery.  My  cook  had  been  telling  me  that 
excellent  puddings  can  be  made  of  the  crusts  of  bread, 
and  a  most  nutritive  soup  from  the  liquor  of  a  boiled 
leg  of  mutton,  and  I  tried  to  explain  it  to  them,  but  they 
only  looked  stupid,  and  said  nothing." 

Mr.  Cranstoun  laughed. 

"  You  did  not  say  anything  about  catching  a  hare  be- 
fore cooking  it,  did  you  ?  " 


QUIXSTAR.  295 

"  No  ;  hare  !  Why,  hare  is  game.  Lord  Winkworth 
used  to  be  vei-y  strict  about  his  game." 

"  I'll  give  a  lecture,"  said  Mr.  Cranstoun.  "  There's 
not  a  better  dodge  going  than  the  working  classes.  See 
if'  I  don't  give  it  to  the  women  about  cookery.  I  pur- 
loined one  of  your  ladyship's  tracts  the  other  day,  with 
cookery  receipts  at  the  end  of  it,  and  comrnxtted  them 
to  memory  for  the  very  purpose.  One — How  to  make 
a  leg  of  mutton  dine  a  family  of  six,  seven  days;  and 
another  about  rice.  You  take  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of 
rice,  put  in  three  gallons  of  water,  one  teaspoonful  of 
Bait,  one  half-teaspoonful  of  pepper,  one  large  onion 
shred,  simmer  for  twelve  hours  by  the  side  of  a  clear 
fire,  and  you  will  be  surprised  at  the  amount  of  whole- 
some food.  If  I  could  drive  these  things  home,  I  would 
feel  that  I  had  not  lived  in  vain.  Bacon's  death  from 
stuffing  a  fowl  with  snow  would  be  nothing  to  it." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Sir  Richard,  "  Mr.  Kennedy 
speaking  to  me  about  the  schoolroom  being  asked  for 
some  meeting.  He  refused  it.  I  said  he  was  quite 
right — quite  right.  What's  the  use  of  all  this  lectur- 
ing ?  If  lecturing  will  make  the  world  better,  it  should 
mend  rapidly." 

"  To  be  sure  it  will,"  said  George.  "  There  won't  be 
a  topic  nor  an  audience  left  for  me  soon.  I  shall  have 
to  assemble  the  birds,  and  give  a  lecture  on  nest-archi- 
tecture." 

"  I  think,"  said  Lady  Winkworth,  "  you  should  de- 
vote yourself  to  the  development  of  rice — make  it  your 
specialty." 

George  laughed. 

Generally  at  such  crises  the  ladies  of  a  man's  house- 
hold throw  themselves  into  the  melee  with  much  zeal 
and  devotion ;  but  in  this  case  the  breach  wae  not  wid- 


296  QUIXSTAR. 

ened  by  feminine  influence.  Mrs.  Kennedy,  as  we 
know,  was  not  in  a  state  to  take  an  active  part  in  any- 
thing. Mrs.  Sinclair  ignored  the  subject  altogether,  ex- 
cept when  she  lamented  her  brother-in-law's  folly  to 
Mr.  Kennedy.  "  You  know,  Mr.  Kennedy,  if  he  had 
asked  my  opinion,  he  would  not  have  entered  on  such  a 
thing  at  all.  But  he  never  does  ask  my  opinion." 

"  No,"  thought  Mr.  Kennedy ;  "  his  own  opinion  is 
perfect  in  his  own  eyes." 

Or  when  she  bewailed  to  her  son  and  daughter-in- 
law  his  more  than  folly  in  spending  money — money  that 
ought  to  be  kept  for  his  brother's  children — in  a  way 
that  would  do  more  harm  than  good.  Tom  said  noth- 
ing— not  an  unusual  way  with  him  of  expressing  his 
opinion.  Jane,  however,  eagerly  agreed  with  her  moth- 
er-in-law. Bell  sympathized  with  her  uncle,  but  in  a 
quiet  way ;  as  for  Effie,  she  was  occupied  with  her  own 
affairs ;  so  that,  when  the  first  sensation  made  by  the 
projected  scheme  blew  over,  the  building  went  on  dur- 
ing the  winter  growing  steadfastly,  and  the  only  visible 
bad  effect  yet  was  a  curious  kind  of  blindness  which  had 
befallen  Mr.  Sinclair  and  Mr.  Kennedy — when  they  met 
they  could  not  see  each  other.  How  must  it  have  ap- 
peared to  those  creatures  who  leave  their  silver  bowers 
to  come  to  succor  us  that  succor  want,  and  want  it 
often  very  grievously  ?  Couldn't  they  have  whispered 
in  the  ears  of  these  two  men,  "  Don't  quarrel ;  nothing 
your  world  can  give  is  worth  quarrelling  about  ? "  If 
they  did  whisper  some  such  sounds  it  was  in  deaf  ears, 
for  even  at  a  burial — across  an  open  grave — where,  if 
anywhere,  the  scales  should  have  fallen  from  their  eyes, 
they  were  as  blind  as  ever. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  there  appeared  an- an- 
nouncement in  the  newspapers  of  the  intention  of  a 


QUIXSTAE.  297 

young  scion  of  royalty  to  visit  Eastshire,  where  he  was 
to  be  the  guest  of  the  Duke  of  Eastshire,  and  at  the 
same  time  honor  with  a  visit  Sir  Richard  Cranstoun  of 
Cranstoun  Hall.  Many  people  saw  that  paragraph  ;  but 
into  the  minds  of  none  of  them  did  it  sink  except  that 
of  Mr.  Miller,  the  active  and  energetic  member  of  the 
Rational  Relaxation  Society.  It  flashed  on  him  like  an 
inspiration — royalty  being  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of 
Quixstar,  why  shouldn't  it  be  asked  to  lay  the  founda- 
tion stone  of  the  new  hall  ?  He  pondered  over  it ;  and, 
not  being  above  the  weakness  of  wishing  to  get  credit 
for  his  own  bright  ideas,  he  took  no  one  into  his  coun- 
sel ;  and  he  wrote  his  letter  of  application,  not  without 
having  duly  considered  what  he  was  asking,  and  how  he 
was  asking  it.  If  the  request  was  granted,  good  and 
well ;  if  it  was  not,  still  good  and  well  in  a  minor  de- 
gree,— in  the  first  case  it  would  be  a  grand  triumph  for 
the  R.  R.  Society  and  for  the  pro-hall  people  of  Quix- 
star ;  in  either  case  it  would  be  an  advertisement  of  no 
secondary  order.  That  would  be  a  stern  spirit,  de- 
manding more  of  human  nature  than  it  is  capable  of, 
who  would  deny  to  the  good  man  a  conscious  satisfac- 
tion in  his  own  good  deeds;  and  Mr.  Miller  stepped 
about  his  usual  business  with  considerable  buoyancy, 
pending  an  answer  to  his  request.  The  answer  came; 
it  was  a  refusal,  declining  for  the  boy  the  oifered  honor 
in  the  most  courteous  terms.  Instantly  Mr.  Miller  sent 
both  letters  to  the  newspapers,  and  Great  Britain  be- 
came aware  that  there  was  a  Rational  Relaxation  So- 
ciety, that  there  was  a  town  Quixstar  by  name,  where  a 
Mr.  Sinclair  was  building  a  hall.  The  inhabitants  of 
Quixstar  itself  were  variously  affected  by  seeing  them- 
selves placarded  in  connection  with  royalty. 

The  milder  and  more  easily  pleased  spirits,  to  whom 
13* 


298  QUIXSTAR. 

fault-finding  was  neither  a  pleasure  nor  a  habit,  thought 
it  well  a  hall  should  be  built,  good  of  Mr.  Sinclair  to 
build  it,  right  that  royalty  should  be  asked  to  stamp  it, 
and  perfectly  proper  that  royalty  should  decline  or  not 
at  its  convenience ;  and  they  were  delighted  that  it  should 
decline  in  such  courteous  and  condescending  tenns.  But 
there  were  the  lean  spirits — the  men  of  the  Cassius  type, 
whom  Caesar  did  not  fear,  but  said  were  to  be  feared — 
those  who  asked  what  royalty  did  to  earn  the  immense 
revenues  it  drew  from  the  thews  and  sinews  of  working 
men,  and  what  right  it  had  to  refuse  a  request,  however 
trifling,  from  the  sovereign  people ;  these  were  compar- 
atively few  though,  and  lean,  chiefly  through  attending 
to  public  aifairs  rather  than  their  own.  There  were 
people  who  laughed  good-naturedly,  and  people  who 
laughed  in  derision,  at  the  clever  Smith  family.  There 
was  Mr.  Kennedy,  who  was  very  angry,  and  was  of 
opinion  that  he  did  well  to  be  very  angry.  There  were 
the  Cranstouns,  the  elders  of  whom  considered  such  a 
liberty  taken  with  the  throne  from  such  a  quarter  not 
far  short  of  high  treason,  and  the  younger,  who  thought 
it  a  pretty  good  joke.  Miss  Raeburn  was  amused,  and 
Mr.  Sinclair  was  vexed  and  annoyed  more  than  he  cared 
to  show.  He  had  called  spirits  from  the  vast  deep  of 
modern  push,  and  found  that  they  were  beyond  his  con- 
trol. As  for  Mrs.  Sinclair,  she  told  her  daughters  she 
considered  this  request  for  royal  countenance  the  one 
redeeming  point  in  the  whole  affair — a  piece  of  good 
sense  she  would  not  have  given  their  uncle  credit  for. 
Mr.  Kennedy  gave  him  credit  for  it  though,  and  his 
pity  for  Mr.  Sinclair  waxed  deeper  and  subtler  and 
blinder  than  ever. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

ABOUT  this  time  the  Gilberts'  interest  in  public 
affairs  was  in  some  measure  swallowed  up  by  interest 
in  their  own.  A  letter  had  come  from  John,  in  which 
he  stated  his  intention  of  being  home  about  the  begin- 
ning of  summer.  It  was  addressed  to  his  mother, 
and  made  her  heart  beat  not  with  unalloyed  pleasure. 
He  said, — 

"  MY  DEAR  MOTHER, — I  have  got  all  of  your  letters, 
I  suppose,  and  a  good  bundle  they  would  have  been,  if  I 
had  kept  them  [letters  these  in  writing  every  one  of 
which  Mrs.  Gilbert  had  shed  tears].  You  people  who, 
like  oysters,  stay  always  in  one  place,  suppose  it  some- 
thing desperate  to  be  so  far  from  one's  native  town  as  I 
am,  but  those  who  move  about  the  world  think  nothing 
of  it.  So  Jane  is  married ;  well,  Tom  is  very  a  decent 
fellow,  and  I  congratulate  them  both ;  and  Effie  Sinclair 
proposes  stepping  out  of  the  avuncular  nest,  and  so  the 
world  wags.  [Mrs.  Gilbert  had  considered  and  recon- 
sidered whether  she  would  give  him  this  piece  of  news, 
and  deciding  to  do  so,  lest  it  should  come  upon  him 
from  a  less  sympathetic  quarter,  had  done  it  in  the  gen- 
tlest way  she  could  devise.]  We  have  had  an  election 
here.  Our  elections  are  conducted  by  ballot,  so  that 
though  there  has  been  a  good  deal  of  excitement,  there  has 
not  been  so  much  commotion  as  on  similar  occasions  in 


300  QUIXSTAK. 

the  old  country.  The  contest  was  regarding  Free-trade 
and  Protection.  There  is  a  loud  and  stupid  cry  in  the 
colony  for  protection  for  native  industry,  a  most  delu- 
sive and  pernicious  theory,  which  you  would  have 
thought,  might  have  been  exploded  by  this  time,  but  all 
over  the  globe  you  find  people  who  block  the  way.  Ed- 
ucation is  another  question  of  interest  here,  as  at  home. 
I  think  I  see  my  father  cocking  his  ears  at  the  mention 
of  it.  Well,  it  is  in  a  wonderfully  satisfactory  state,  ev- 
ery facility  being  given  for  every  child  in  the  colony  be- 
ing educated — that  is,  wherever  twenty  children  can  be 
got  together,  for  that  is  the  smallest  number  for  which 
the  government  will  grant  its  allowance.  Any  child 
not  able  to  pay  has  only  to  get  a  declaration  to  that  ef- 
fect from  a  magistrate  or  minister,  and  he  is  taught  gra- 
tis. They  are  wanting  now  to  make  education  compul- 
sory and  secular,  which  may  be  an  improvement.  There 
was  a  great  piiblic  meeting  about  it  the  other  night,  and 
a  funny  thing  happened.  One  speaker  made  a  very 
good  speech;  he  spoke  with  authority.  I  asked  some 
one,  Who  is  that  ?  and  was  told  that  he  was  a  barrister 
from  New  Zealand,  and  a  rising  man  in  that  colony. 
He  sat  down ;  I  was  just  at  his  back ;  he  and  the  man 
next  him  began  to  look  at  each  other ;  at  last  the  New 
Zealander  put  out  his  hand  and  said,  '  You;re  Tom 
Smith,'  and  Tom  said,  '.And  you're  John  Johnston.' 
'NoAV,'  I  said,  sticking  my  head  in  betAveen  them,  'are 
you  very  much  nearer  identification  when  you  have 
found  out  that  the  one  of  you  is  Tom  Smith  and  the 
other  John  Johnston  ?  I'll  clinch  the  business — you 
both  hail  from  Quixstar,  and  I  am  John  Gilbert.'  We 
were  all  very  happy,  and  at  the  end  of  the  meeting 
Smith  took  us  to  his  hotel,  where  we  were  introduced 
to  his  wife,  and  had  supper.  It  is  said  she  is  enormous- 


QUIXSTAR.  301 

ly  rich ;  he  is  a  lucky  fellow.  Couldn't  yoii  look  out 
some  moneyed  ladies  for  me  to  pick  and  choose  among 
when  I  come  home  ?  I  mean  to  try  the  cuckoo's  plan 
for  once,  and  have  no  winter  in  my  year,  and  two  sum- 
mers; look  out  for  me  the  time  the  pea  puts  on  the 
bloom  next  spring.  By  the  bye,  Tom  Smith  was  nearly 
drowned ;  he  was  bathing  in  the  river  a  morning  or  two 
after  I  first  saw  him,  and  took  the  cramp;  I  happened  to 
be  passing  at  the  time,  and  pulled  him  out.  His  wife  has 
been  in  an  extraordinary  state  of  gratitude.  He  tells  the 
stale  story  of  seeing  all  his  life  before  him  when  he  was 
sinking.  When  I'm  pulled  out  of  the  water  I'll  invent 
something  fresher  than  that." 

This  letter  was  what  John  sent  to  his  mother  to  feed 
her  love  on,  but  love  is  like  the  cactus  order  of  plants, 
which  can  find  moisture  in  a  dry  and  thirsty  desert. 

November  and  December  are  proverbially  gloomy 
months,  and  they  are  gloomy,  but  it  is  a  chastened 
gloom,  a  gloom  that  softens  one's  mood ;  they  linger 
among  decayed  grandeur  like  people  that  have  seen  bet- 
ter days,  even  the  birds — those  of  them  at  least  that 
have  remained  to  share  their  fallen  state — respect  their 
misfortunes  and  hush  their  songs,  except  when  one  by 
mistake  sends  out  a  note  and  stops  short,  shocked  at  its 
own  heedlessness.  But  for  dour,  wild,  weird  gloom 
there  is  nothing  like  a  surly  January  day,  with  its  lead- 
en colors,  its  sullen  inky  clouds  driven  before  the  wind 
like  a  herd  of  old-world  monsters ;  trees  twisting  their 
naked  arms  in  despair;  a  bare  desolate  earth,  and  a 
bleak  desolate  sky  ;  yet  there  is  an  undertone  of  vigor 
in  the  wind,  and  a  clear  freshness — is  the  young  year 
waking  up  in  a  fit  of  the  nightmare  ?  It  was  on  such  a 
day  as  this  that  the  foundation-stone  of  Mr.  Sinclair's 
hall  ought  to  have  been  laid  by  youthful  royalty,  if  Mr. 


302  QUIXSTAR. 

Miller  had  got  his  own  way.  If  any  one  supposes  Mr.  Mil- 
ler's mood  would  have  been  influenced  by  the  weather, 
any  one  supposes  a  laughable  thing ;  but  he  felt  that 
other  people  had  less  wisdom  and  energy  than  himself, 
otherwise,  the  boy  being  on  the  spot,  the  stone  would 
have  been  laid  with  a  flourish  of  trumpets,  instead  of 
the  occasion  slipping  past  almost  wholly  unimproved. 

The  illustrious  boy  paid  his  promised  visit,  however, 
to  Cranstoun  Hall,  and  with  his  tutor  and  another  gentle- 
man walked  the  length  and  breadth  of  Quixstar,  seeing 
what  was  to  be  seen.  They  did  so  uninterruptedly, 
few  people  being  aware  of  the  rank  of  the  visitor. 
Maddy  Fairgrieve,  now  Jackson,  and  a  happy  stepmother, 
looked  in  on  Mrs.  Veitch  in  the  afternoon.  "  Did  you 
see  the  Prince  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  Ou  ay,  I  saw  him,"  said  Mrs.  Yeitch ;  "  him  and 
twa  gentlemen  cam'  and  stood  a  gude  while  lookin'  at 
our  midden — it  seems  the  thick  o'  a  battle  was  there 
twa  three  hundred  year  syne.  I  forgot  a'  about  it,  and 
wondered  what  they  were  looking  at ;  they  werena  like 
folk  wantin'  to  buy  dung.  When  Peter  cam'  in  and  tell't 
me  it  was  the  Prince,  I  thought  I  should  hae  asked  him 
in  to  get  a  drink  o'  milk  or  something,  but  I  was  that  ill 
wi'  the  toothache  I  could  not  be  fashed." 

"  It's  been  a  cauld  day,"  said  Maddy.  "  I  think  aye 
at  this  time  o'  the  year  the  wind  gangs  through  ye  like 
a  knife;  no  very  gude  for  the  toothache, — And  what  like 
was  he  ?  " 

"  Weel,  he  was  muckle  like  other  callants.  I  dinna 
think  but  our  Peter  looked  better  than  him  at  his  age." 

/'  It's  a  pity  but  ye  had  asked  him  in,"  said  Maddy. 

"  Hoot,  the  like  o'  him  wad  get  something  some- 
where. I  kent  that,  or  I  wad  hae  asked  him  in,  ill  as  T 
was." 


QUIXSTAR.  303 

"  Ob,  he  wadna  starve,  I  daursay,"  said  Maddy  ;  "  but 
it'll  maybe  be  a  while  or  sic  an  honor  conies  your  way 
again." 

"  Weel,  weel,  we  can  live  without  it.  Puir  thing, 
I'se  warrant  his  mother  thinks  a  heap  o'  him." 

"  It's  likely,  or  she'll  no'  be  like  you." 

"  Weel,  I  fancy  we're  a'  ae  flesh  and  blood." 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

NOTHING  of  its  kind  could  exceed  the  beauty  of 
Quixstar  in  May,  except  perhaps  its  beauty  in  June. 
June  might  be  a  degree  richer,  but  oh !  May  was  fresh 
and  vivid  and  very  lovely,  especially  towards  the  close 
of  the  month,  when  the  leaves  had  got  themselves  fully 
unfolded,  and  had  lost  none  of  their  exquisite  delicacy 
of  coloring,  when  the  lilac  and  laburnum  were  hanging 
in  full  cluster  in  all  the  gardens,  and  the  fruit  of  the  fol- 
lowing autumn  was  making  its  first  appearance  in  a 
cloud  of  red  and  white  startling  into  beauty  the  homely 
apple  and  pear  trees,  and  the  spring  flowers,  matchless, 
in  the  grace  of  simplicity,  still  lingered. 

Mr.  Kennedy  did  not  appreciate  his  garden  as  he 
might  have  done.  He  had  it  kept  in  good  order,  and 
got  a  second-hand  pleasiire  out  of  it.  He  liked  to  hear 
people  say,  "  You  have  a  fine  place,  or  a  sweet  place, 
Mr.  Kennedy ; "  but  that  is  a  vulgar  enjoyment  com- 
pared with  what  the  man  has  into  whose  ear  Nature 
herself  whispers. 

A  lilac-tree  stood  very  near  Mr.  Kennedy's  bedroom 
window,  which  had  performed  its  annual  miracle  of 
crowning  itself  with  no  end  of  the  richest  white  clus- 
ters, drooping  slightly  with  their  own  weight.  It  was 
a  miracle  that  did  not  attract  much  attention,  not  even 
from  the  kind  of  people  who  don't  believe  anything  but 
what  they  understand ;  and  there  were  people  in  Quix- 


QUIXSTAR.  305 

star  who  had  reached  this  point — the  point  where  the 
fool  and  the  philosopher  met. 

It  was  no  miracle  to  Mr.  Kennedy  how  all  that  fine 
workmanship,  which  could  stand  inspection  with  the 
most  powerful  microscope,  that  skill  in  grouping,  and 
chaste  purity  of  color,  came  there.  It  was  a  matter  of 
course,  but  it  was  not  a  matter  of  course  that  his  property 
should  be  destroyed,  and  one  night  when  the  dog  began 
to  bark,  Mr.  Kennedy,  thinking  some  one  might  be 
tearing  off  branches  from  the  trees,  opened  his  window 
and  looked  out,  meeting  the  gentle  incense  from  the 
lilac,  which  added  charm  did  not  strike  him  either.  A 
man  was  standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  twilight — hard- 
ly twilight,  for  at  that  season  the  day  seems  to  linger 
and  linger  for  the  kiss  of  the  jocund  morning  before  de- 
parting forever. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Kennedy. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  stranger,  "  what  could  I  pos- 
sibly want  at  this  hour  but  a  bed  ?  " 

"  Do  you  take  this  house  for  an  inn  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  a  place  of  spiritual  refreshment.  The  house 
remains,  but  the  hosts  change.  The  word  manse — " 
here  a  fit  of  coughing  came  on. 

"  The  sooner  you  go  to  the  inn  the  better,"  said  Mr. 
Kennedy. 

"  I've  just  come  from  the  inn.  I  can't  get  a  bed 
there." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  they've  washed  all  their  blankets,  and 
they're  wet — not  a  dry  rag  in  the  house. " 

"  You  can't  get  a  bed  here." 

"  What !  My  father  used  to  tell  me  that  the  manses 
of  Scotland  were  famous  for  hospitality.  '  Tom,'  he  used 
to  say, '  whenever  you  are  at  a  loss  throw  yourself  on 


306  QUIXSTAR. 

the  hospitality  of  the  manse.'  My  father,  Dr.  Robertson 
of  Hongatonga ;  you  have  heard  of  him,  of  course — " 

Mr.  Kennedy  said  he  had  not. 

"  Impossible  !  The  well-known  Dr.  Robertson,  author 
of  a  Commentary  on  the  Epistles  of  Peter.  I  bet  you 
have  the  book  on  your  shelves,  and  I  could  find  it  for 
you ! " 

"  Thank  you.  No,  I  don't  bet ;  and  as  I  have  said, 
you  can't  get  a  bed  here." 

"  Then  let  me  have  a  chair — a  sofa — anything  ?  My 
father  said,  (  Throw  yourself  on  the  hospitality  of  the 
manse. ' " 

"  You  can't  get  in  here." 

"  And  I'm  not  able  to  go  farther ;  in  my  state  of 
health  the  night  air  is  death,"  and  he  had  another  fit  of 
coughing. 

"  Get  a  chair  or  a  sofa  in  the  inn." 

"  I'll  sleep  at  the  foot  of  this  tree  rather,  and  you  can 
let  Dr.  Robertson  know  the  cause  of  my  death.  Mis- 
taken man ;  he  used  to  say, '  Throw  yourself  on  the  hos- 
pitality of  the  manse.'  " 

Now  Mr.  Kennedy  was  hospitable,  and  he  did  not 
like  to  have  the  death  of  any  one  laid  to  his  door.  At 
the  same  time  he  was  not  inclined  to  be  the  victim  of  an 
impostor,  and  he  said — 

"  I  know  nothing  of  Dr.  Robertson,  but  if  there  is 
such  a  man  I  have  no  proof  that  you  are  his  son.  Seek 
shelter  elsewhere." 

"  Strange  that  you  should  not  know  of  Dr.  Robertson 
of  Hongatonga.  Why,  I  should  have  thought  my  friend 
Mr.  Gilbert  would  have  mentioned  him  to  you.  He 
often  talked  to  me  of  you.  He  used  to  say, '  Robertson, 
you  may  be  fortunate  in  your  father,  and  his  Commen- 
tary may  be  good,  but  if  our  minister  at  Quixstar  were 


QUIXSTAR.  307 

to  publish  merely -his  ordinary  discourses  few  Commen- 
taries could  hold  the  candle  to  them.' " 

"  Gilbert — John  Gilbert.     Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  Intimately — very  intimately." 

"  And  he  used  to  speak  to  you  of  me  ?  " 

"  Often,  very  often.  You  are  no  stranger  to  me, 
Mr.  Kennedy.  You  see  I  am  not  an  impostor." 

"  Well,  if  I  were  sure — "  Mr.  Kennedy  began. 

"  Gae  'way  to  your  bed,  Mr.  Kennedy,"  a  voice  shout- 
ed from  behind  the  garden  wall,  and  there -was  an  im- 
mediate burst  of  laughter. 

"  I'll  take  the  advice,"  said  Mr.  Kennedy ;  "  and  if  you 
are  intimate  with  John  Gilbert,  his  father  and  mother 
will  be  glad  to  see  you.  Make  your  way  to  them."  And 
Mr.  Kennedy  took  in  his  head  and  shut  the  window. 

And  John  Gilbert — for  it  was  he — lay  down  at  the 
foot  of  the  tree,  and  slept  well  and  soundly,  without 
detriment  to  his  health,  which  was  remarkably  good. 
He  had  gone  to  the  inn-the  first  thing  on  his  arrival  in 
his  native  place,  and  on  leaving  it  had  stumbled  into 
the  manse  garden,  his  senses  not  being  very  acute  at  the 
moment.  It  was  not  the  first  time  by  many  that  he  had 
slept  under  the  open  canopy  of  heaven.  It  was  well  for 
herself  that  his  mother  did  not  know  and  could  not 
guess  all  the  outs  and  ins  of  his  history.  In  the  morn- 
ing he  went  to  St.  Hilda's  Lodge  and  startled  the  ser- 
vant who  opened  the  door  to  his  very  early  visit,  by  his 
outlandish  and  unkempt  look,  so  that  she  was  not  at  all 
sure  of  letting  him  in  ;  but  he  got  in  and  made  his  way 
to  a  bedroom,  where  he  effected  such  a  change  in  his  ap- 
pearance that  on  his  emerging  again  she  was  not  sure 
he  was  the  same  person  she  had  let  in. 

"  Well,  John,"  said  Tom,  "  you've  got  back.  Have 
you  seen  your  father  and  mother  yet  ?  " 


308  QUIXSTAR. 

"  No ;  I  wanted  to  see  you  first." 

"  Which  means,"  said  Tom,  "  that  you  have  come 
home  without  a  penny." 

"  No,  it  doesn't.  See,"  he  said,  "  I  have  more  than 
a  penny,"  and  he  held  up  a  penny  and  a  halfpenny. 
"  That  is  the  fortune  with  which  I  return  to  my  native 
land  ;  but  I'm  not  going  to  stay  long.  Don't  be  fright- 
ened." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  back  to  where  I  came  from.  Mean- 
time, you  must  lend  me  some  money." 

"  I  won't  lend  you  money.     I'll  give  you  a  little." 

"  Well ;  so  that  I  get  it  I  don't  mind." 

"  Oh,  Jack,  you've  got  home  again,"  said  Jane;  "and 
better-looking  than  ever,  I  declare.  Have  you  made  a 
fortune  ?  What  did  my  mother  say  when  she  saw 
you  ?  " 

"  She  hasn't  seen  me  yet." 

"  John  !  "  said  Jane,  in  a  tone  of  reproach. 

"  Well,  I  have  only  arrived,  and  I  thought  I  would 
come  here  and  smooth  my  outward  man  a  little 
first." 

"  Have  you  made  money,  John  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  Not  much.  I've  told  Tom  the  amount  of  my  for- 
tune quite  frankly. 

"  How  much  is  it,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Just  as  much  as  when  he  went  away." 

"  If  I  had  been  you,  John,"  she  said,  "  I  would  not 
have  come  home  till  I  had  something  to  come  with.  I 
wonder  at  you.  I  would  have  had  more  pride." 

And  this  was  the  outcome  of  Mrs.  Gilbert's  visions 
and  anxieties  about  her  children  !  Why,  they  were 
strangers  to  her,  foreign  to  her  very  nature  ! — Jane  in 
her  hard  respectable  worldliness,  and  John  in  his  care- 


QUIXSTAR.  309 

less  easy-going  vagabondism.  Still  both  loved  their 
mother.  It  was  not  that  John  did  not  love  his  father 
and  mother  that  he  did  not  hurry  to  them,  but  that 
through  all  he  had  a  sense  that  he  might  have  been  a 
better  son.  However,  he  meant  to  do  wonders  yet. 

When  Jane  and  he  passed  the  parlor  window,  Mrs. 
Gilbert  was  in  her  usual  seat.  She  looked  up,  and  a 
great  rush  of  blood  dyed  her  face  and  faded  out  of  it 
again  ;  that  was  the  only  sign  of  extra  emotion  she  gave. 
After  the  first  surprise  and  greetings  were  over,  John 
reclined  in  an  easy  chair,  and  Jane  discoursed  largely 
about  herself  and  her  concerns.  In  a  little  the  window 
was  shadowed  for  a  moment  by  two  figures  passing,  and 
Jane  said,  "  There's  Bell  and  Effie.  It's  an  early  call." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  looked  at  her  son.  She  was  anxious 
how  he  might  feel  in  meeting  Eifie,  and  hastened  to  the 
door  to  take  the  girls  into  another  room  to  save  him 
the  shock,  or  at  least  to  give  him  time  to  prepare  for 
it,  but  Jane  cried — 

"  Bring  them  here,  mamma,  they'll  like  to  see  Jack." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack,  as  he  shook  hands  ;  "  I  was  sure 
you  would  no  sooner  know  that  I  was  here  than  you 
would  be  across  to  see  me." 

"  We  did  not  know  that  you  were  here,"  said  Bell ; 
"  but  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you." 

"  I  did  not  believe  you  would  ever  come  back,"  said 
Effie,  without  apparent  emotion. 

"  To  be  sure  I've  come  back.  I  heard  of  your  wed- 
ding and  came  back  to  dance  at  it — for  the  express  pur- 
pose. I'm  not  very  intimate  with  George,  but  you  and 
I  are  old  friends." 

"  Oh,  George  will  make  you  as  welcome  as  I.  I 
really  thought  that  you  would  be  Mr.  Wandermere  who 
was  to  have  come  home  next  year." 


310  QTJIXSTAR. 

"  I've  come  home  to  look  for  a  wife,"  said  John. 

"  Are  ladies  scarce  where  you  come  from  ?  "  asked 
Effie. 

"  Far  from  it ;  but  I  have  a  tinge  of  patriarchal  ro- 
mance about  me.  I  want  a  daughter  of  my  own  peo- 
ple," said  John. 

Whatever  old-fashioned  notions  of  embarrassment 
or  constraint,  or  possibly  of  a  fainting-fit  occurring  at 
the  meeting  again,  under  such  altered  circumstances,  of 
two  who  had  been  ardent  lovers,  any  one  present  might 
have  had,  were  thoroughly  put  to  flight  by  the  easy 
nonchalance  of  Effie  and  John. 

Bell  wondered  if  she  had  only  dreamed  that  she  had 
found  her  sister  among  the  trees,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart 
would  break ;  and  Mrs.  Gilbert  thought  times  had 
changed  since  she  was  young,  when  broken  hearts  were 
an  article  of  firm  belief. 

"  She's  a  nice  little  thing,  Efiie,''  said  John  when 
they  were  gone ;  "  and  she'll  have  plenty  of  cash. 
George  is  a  lucky  fellow ;  but  it's  always  the  people 
who  have  much  that  get  more.  Is  there  no  word  of 
Bell  going  off?" 

"  No,"  said  his  mother. 

"  Bell  won't  be  so  easily  pleased  as  Efiie,"  said  Mary. 

"  Easily  pleased  ! "  said  Jane ;  "  George  is  a  capital 
match.  I  wish  he  had  chosen  you  instead  of  Effie ; 
that's  all  the  ill  I  wish  you,  Mary." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Bell  to  her  sister  on  the  way 
home,  "  I  was  frightened  when  I  heard  John  Gilbert 
was  home  ?  I  did  not  know  how  you  might  feel." 

"How  I  would  feel!"  said  Effie;  "how  should  I 
feel  ?  I  have  no  feeling  in  the  matter."  Then  a  minute 
after,  "  He  is  amazingly  good-looking,  and  not  changed, 
except  for  the  better." 


QUIXSTAB.  311 

"  It  is  a  pity  he  is  not  as  good  as  he  is  good-looking." 

"  But  he  is  not  bad,"  said  Effie.  "  No  one  says  he  is 
bad.  For  his  own  sake  I  hope  he  is  not." 

Bell  thought — "  I  wonder  how  she  feels.  I  have  not 
the  least  idea;  but  feeling  of  some  kind  she  must  have." 
Erne's  feat  of  legerdemain  in  transferring  her  love  so 
entirely  was  a  thing  out  of  Bell's  power. 

His  son  had  come  home,  and  Mr.  Gilbert,  in  his 
school,  was  not  aware  of  it.  On  his  way  home  from  his 
daily  toil  he  met  Jane  and  Tom  Sinclair,  who  told  him. 
His  eyes  instantly  lighted  up. 

"  How  is  he  looking  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  never  saw  him  look  better,"  said  Jane. 

"  What  has  he  been  doing  all  this  time  ?  " 

"  A  good  many  things,  I  fancy,"  said  Tom. 

"  And  he  has  come  back  without  a  farthing,"  Jane  re- 
marked. 

Mr.  Gilbert's  countenance  fell,  and  he  said  hurriedly, 
"  If  he  has  his  health  that's  everything,"  and  passed  on. 

Happily  parental  love  is  seldom  measured  by  money ; 
and  although  it  grieved  and  disappointed  Mr.  Gilbert 
bitterly  that,  while  other  men  who  had  started  with 
John  were  honorably  settled  in  life  and  prosperous,  his 
son — his  only  son — should  still  be  the  rolling  stone  that 
gathers  no  moss  ;  yet  he  was  young,  and  he  comforted 
himself  by  thinking  that  he  would  before  long  take  root 
and  flourish.  He  went  in  and  welcomed  the  wanderer 
with  a  voice  not  altogether  steady ;  and  when  he  looked 
at  him  he  immediately  began  the  old  castle-building. 

John  himself  talked  of  the  wonders  he  was  going  to 
do,  and  smoked  and  lounged  in-doors,  and  hung  about 
out  of  doors,  and  cultivated  a  close  intimacy  with  his 
grand-aunt,  and  was  very  often  at  Old  Battle  House, 
and  patronized  St.  Hilda's  Lodge  a  good  deal,  and  vis- 


312  QUIXSTAR. 

ited  the  Smiths  and  Miss  Raeburn,  and  gave  out  that  he 
was  to  leave  for  the  antipodes  again  in  the  autumn. 
Careless  as  he  was,  and  thoughtless  in  giving  her  so 
much  pain,  the  best  thing  about  John  was  his  love  for 
and  belief  in  his  mother.  When  a  boy  she  had  given 
him  a  Bible,  in  which  she  had  written  his  name.  Not 
having  seen  it  after  he  left,  she  hoped  lie  had  taken  it 
with  him  ;  and  when  he  returned,  the  first  thing  she  no- 
ticed on  his  dressing-table  was  this  Bible.  How  it 
gladdened  her  heart !  Nor  was  he  a  hypocrite  in  this  ; 
he  carried  it  about  with  him  from  love  of  his  mother. 

The  first  time  he  met  Mr.  Kennedy  they  stood  and 
talked  a  good  while,  when  just  as  they  were  parting,  "  By 
the  bye,  said  Mr.  Kennedy,  "  I  had  a  curious  nocturnal 
visit  from  a  friend  of  yours  lately." 

"  Ay !  said  John,  who  was  that  ?  " 

"  Robertson.  Do  you  know  any  one  of  the  name  of 
Robertson  in  Hongatonga  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes ;  a  Rev.  Dr.  Robertson ;  but  it  was  not 
him,  was  it  ?  " 

"  No,  his  son." 

"  Ah,  Tom  !  he's  a  scamp,  and  a  thorn  in  his  father's 
side.  Yes,  I  knew  he  was  over.  And  how  did  he  in- 
troduce himself  ?  what  did  he  want  ?  " 

"  He  wanted  a  night's  lodging,  and  did  not  bring  an 
introduction.  He  said  he  knew  you — that  you  had 
talked  to  him  of  me." 

"  He  has  brass  enough  for  anything.  Did  he  stay 
all  night  ?  " 

"  I  never  let  him  in." 

"  You  were  wise ;  no  saying  when  you  would  have 
got  him  out.  Poor  Tom  !  it's  a  pity.  He  would  tell 
you  his  father  had  written  a  Commentary  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  on  the  Epistles  of  Peter." 


QUIXSTAR.  313 

"  Ay,  that's  Tom's  sheet-anchor  when  he's  begging. 
And  he  would  tell  you  that  his  father  told  him  to  throw 
himself  on  the  hospitality  of  the  manse  ?  " 

"  Exactly.  " 

"  Ay,  that's  his  story  regularly.  I  wonder  he  does 
not  tire  of  it,  and  invent  a  change  sometimes ;  I  would  if 
I  were  he." 

"  Perhaps  he  hasn't  as  much  brains." 

"  Ah,  Tom  doesn't  want  for  brains,  if  he  only  made  a 
good  use  of  them." 

"  That's  it,"  said  Mr.  Kennedy.  "  Well  I'm  glad  to 
find  I  was  right  in  warning  him  off;  it's  very  rarely  I'm 
wrong.  I  had  my  qualms  about  it  after — he  had  a  bad 
cough.  " 

"  He  is  subject  to  a  bad  cough  when  it  suits  him." 

"  The  rascal ! — Well,  good-bye,  Mr.  Gilbert.     Come 
in  any  time  you  are  passing ;  I  would  like  to  hear  some- 
thing of  your  travels  and  experience." 
14 


CHAPTER  XLYI. 

THERE  was  another  arrival  of  an  old  friend  at  Quix- 
star  in  June — when  the  east  wind  was  supposed  to  have 
retreated  to  its  cave — although  every  now  and  then  it 
tried  to  break  out,  and  whined  and  showed  its  teeth — and 
the  south  and  the  west  winds  to  come  out  and  breathe 
their  gentle  healing  influences  over  the  land — in  the  per- 
son of  Mr.  Doubleday,  who  was  to  be  Miss  Raeburn's 
guest  during  the  summer. 

Mr.  Doubleday  had  no  money,  which  was  bad;  and, 
what  was  worse,  he  had  no  home^ — his  sister,  such  as 
she  was,  being  dead.  To  have  no  home  worthy  the 
name  had  been  his  lot  for  many  a  day,  so  that  he  felt  it 
the  less,  and  Miss  Raeburn's  kindness  the  more.  '  Having 
gone  away  apparently  moribund,  he  had  come  back  re- 
divivus,a,nd  Miss  Raeburn  determined  his  health  should 
be  further  confirmed  by  a  summer  in  the  open  air. 
Meantime  she  was  using  all  the  influence  within  her 
reach,  backed  by  his  own  merits — which  were  not  quite 
unknown — to  get  him  an  appointment  in  some  colonial 
college,  where  the  climate  might  suit  his  constitution  ; 
and  she  had  great  hopes  of  success. 

Bell  Sinclair  almost  danced  round  him  for  joy  when 
she  saw  him  return  so  well;  and  he,  poor  man,  not  hav- 
ing been  accustomed  to  even  ordinary  kindness,  thought 
this  so  extraordinary,  that  the  smouldering  ashes  of  the 
fire  within  him,  blown  upon  by  hope,  began  once  more 
to  flicker  up  into  a  kind  of  blaze.  A  professorship  in  a 


QUIXSTAB.  315 

congenial  climate,  Bell  for  a  wife,  and  half  the  globe  be- 
tween them  and  her  mother!  Talk  of  the  Elysian 
fields  ! — a  barren  common  by  comparison  ! 

Miss  Raeburn  was  not  one  of  those  people  who 
never  doubt  the  wisdom  of  their  own  acts  and  decisions  ; 
and  when  she  saw,  as  she  was  not  long  in  seeing,  the 
bent  of  her  guest's  thoughts,  she  felt  that  her  disci'e- 
tion  had  been  at  fault.  What  could  she  do  ?  There 
was  no  pretext  on  which  she  could  send  him  away,  yet 
she  was  exposing  him  to  needless  suffering. 

"  Have  you  read  many  novels,  Mr.  Doubleday  ? " 
she  said  to  him  one  day  when  they  were  sitting  alone. 
"  I  daresay  not ;  they  are  hardly  in  your  line." 

"  Not  much,  but  I  used  to  read  them  as  a  boy.  I 
like  a  good  novel  yet." 

"  So  do  I ;  nothing  better,  and  I  like  to  watch  a 
novel  going  on  round  me  if  it  is  a  good  one." 

"  Observing  people  never  was  my  forte"  said  Mr. 
Doubleday.  "  It  is  a  gift  which,  to  my  loss,  I  have  not." 

"  Well,  I  have  it  a  little.  I  don't  know  that  I  could 
trust  to  its  correctness  if  much  depended  on  it,  but  for 
my  own  amusement  it  does  very  well.  At  present,  for 
instance,  we  have  a  pair  and  a  half  of  lovers  under  our 
eyes  pretty  frequently." 

"  A  pair  and  a  half! "  said  Mr.  Doubleday. 

"  Yes ;  we  have  Effie  and  George  Raeburn,  and  we 
have  Bell,  and  I  strongly  suspect  an  invisible  half.  As 
the  phrase  is,  her  affections  are  engaged,  I  have  good 
reason  to  think." 

Mr.  Doubleday  moved  uneasily  on  his  chair — that 
was  all  the  sign  of  emotion  he  gave.  The  sinking  of 
the  heart,  the  extinction  of  hope,  the  blank  and  pathetic 
resignation,  were  invisible  even  to  Miss  Raeburn — were 
known  only  to  divine  sympathy. 


316  QUIXSTAB. 

Miss  Raeburn  feeling  that  she  had  done  a  good  deed 
in  warning  him,  and  hoping  that  she  had  not  been  too 
long  about  it,  went  on — 

"  I  wonder  if  Effie  and  George  will  float  away  into 
commonplace  comfort  without  more  ado  !  It  looks  like 
it,  but  I  have  my  own  doubts.  We  shall  see." 

Mr.  Doubleday  made  no  rejoinder. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  you  must  not  fall  into  a  brown 
study.  Suppose  we  have  a  walk  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  certainly." 

"  And  we'll  have  lunch  first." 

He  could  not  eat,  the  strain  of  feeling  had  given  him 
a  sensation  of  sickness,  a  choking  in  his  throat.  Hope, 
like  a  cat,  has  nine  lives.  You  may  throw  it  out  of  the 
window,  it  will  crawl  in  at  the  door,  and  when  it  does 
die  it  dies  hard. 

When  they  went  out  Mr.  Doubleday  sometimes  stood 
still,  and  sometimes  strode  on  rapidly,  forgetting  for 
the  moment  that  he  had  a  companion ;  and  Avhom 
should  they  meet  but  Bell  and  Effie  and  John  Gilbert, 
who  suggested  that  they  might  turn  back  with  them, 
which  they  did.  Bell  saw  the  dazed,  wishful  look  in 
Mr.  Doubleday's  face  instantly,  and  without  thinking 
she  said — 

"  What's  the  matter,  Mr.  Doubleday  ?  " 

"  You  have  seen  a  ghost,  sir !  Boswell's  Johnson 
would  say,"  John  remarked. 

"  What  like  was  it  ?  "  asked  Effie.  "  Had  it  a  white 
gown,  and  eyes  like  little  moons  ?  " 

"  Oh  come,  don't  let  us  speak  nonsense,"  said  Bell. 
She  and  Miss  Raeburn  seemed  naturally  to  fall  behind. 
Effie  and  John,  with  Mr.  Doubleday  sometimes  behind 
and  sometimes  before  them,  but  supposed  to  be  in  their 
company,  led  the  way. 


QUIXSTAR.  317 

"  You  look  a  little  tired,  Tibby,"  said  Miss  Raeburn. 
"  Have  you  had  a  long  walk  ?  " 

"  Pretty  long." 

"  And  has  John  been  with  you  all  the  way  ?  " 

"  No ;  we  met  him,  and  he  turned  with  us  just  as 
you  did.  He  is  a  most  unaccountable  creature.  How 
such  a  man  can  hang  about  idle  so  long  I  don't  know. 
Why,  it's  four  months  since  he  came  home.  However, 
he  says  he  is  going  away  soon." 

"  He  is  an  ornament  to  the  place,"  said  Miss  Rae- 
burn. "  We'll  all  miss  him  when  he  goes." 

"  Jane  and  Tom  are  very  angry  at  him.  It  is  a  great 
pity  he  is  not  as  useful  as  ornamental. — Where  has  Mr. 
Doubleday  disappeared  to  ?  " 

All  Mr.  Doubleday's  old  feeling  with  regard  to  John 
Gilbert  had  revived,  and  it  had  occurred  to  him  that  he 
was  not  absolutely  compelled  to  walk  before  Bell's  eyes 
in  the  company  of  her  handsome  and  favored  lover,  so 
he  had  taken  another  way  home. 

On  reaching  her  own  door  Miss  Raeburn  bade  the 
Sinclairs  good-bye,  and  asked  John  Gilbert  to  go  in 
with  her  to  dinner,  which  he  did,  not  to  the  delight  of 
her  other  guest ;  but  one  pang  more  or  less,  what  after 
all  did  it  signify  ? 

"  John,"  said  Miss  Raeburn,  "  before  we  went  out 
to-day  Mr.  Doubleday  and  I  were  speculating  a  little 
as  to  whether  Effie  Sinclair's  marriage  would  go  on 
to  the  end  as  smoothly  as  it  promises.  What  think 
you?" 

"I?"  said  John.  "I  really  don't  know.  Is  there 
anything  to  hinder  it  doing  so  ?  " 

"  I  was  asking  what  you  thought.  I  hope  not.  If 
there  is  any  such  hindrance  it  should  be  got  out  of  the 
way." 


318  QUIXSTAR. 

Miss  Raeburn  glanced  accidently  at  Mr.  Doubleday, 
which  glance  John  caught. 

"  What  does  Miss  Raeburn  mean,  Mr.  Doubleday  ?  " 
he  said.  "  You  are  not  going  to  put  a  stone  on  the  line 
to  upset  Miss  Effie's  marriage,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday  simply. 

"  You  hear  that,  Miss  Raeburn  ?"  said  John.  "What 
is  it  you  are  afraid  of  for  Erne  ?  You  haven't  found 
that  George  has  a  previous  engagement  he  is  called  on 
to  fulfil  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  h»¥*S/not  found  that  George  had  a  previous 
engagement,  and  if  any  one  attempts  to  break  up  his 
present  one  it  will  be  a  cruel  thing — very  cruel  to  Erne." 

"  Are  people  saying  anything  of  that  kind  ?  I  have 
not  heard  it." 

"  Neither  have  I,"  said  Miss  Raeburn. 

"  Then  I'll  not  repeat  it,"  said  John.  "  It  would  be  a 
pity  to  set  a  report  of  that  kind  afloat. — They  were  tell- 
ing me  to-day  that  the  new  hall  is  about  finished,  and 
that  there  is  to  be  some  sort  of  affair  at  the  opening  of 
it.  Mr.  Doubleday,  you'll  have  to  give  a  speech." 

"  I'm  sorry  I  can't  speak,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday. 

"  But  you're  not  too  old  to  learn." 

"  No,  not  too  old ;  but  there  are  other  impediments." 

"  I  think  of  giving  a  speech  myself.  My  sister  and 
Tom  are  very  angry  at  the  hall  being  built ;  but  if  Mr. 
Sinclair  keeps  it  in  his  own  hands,  and  manages  it  well, 
it  may  turn  out  a  very  good  investment." 

"  He  is  not  going  to  do  that,  though.  He  is  going 
to  hand  it  over  to  the  town ;  and,  by  the  way,  speaking 
-of  investments,  is  your  aunt,  old  Mrs.  Gilbert,  thinking 
of  investing  in  any  of  the  colonies,  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  "  said  John,  with  a  slight  in- 
crease of  color. 


QUIXSTAR.  319 

"  I  thought  she  might  consult  you  on  business  mat- 
ters, and  you  should  advise  her  strongly  against  it.  She 
can  live  comfortably,  and  ought  not  to  risk  loss.  I  think 
I  must  speak  to  her  myself.  I  could  strengthen  your 
advice." 

This  was  Miss  Raeburn's  way  of  letting  John  know 
that  she  suspected  what  he  might  be  about.  She  could 
have  done  better,  probably.  If  a  thing  is  worth  speak- 
ing of  at  all,  kindly,  direct  speaking  is  likely  to  do  more 
good  than  a  game  at  side-hitting.  However  clever,  it 
is  apt  to  put  up  the  qaills  of  human  na""re.  It  says  vir- 
tually, "  You  see  how  acute  and  dexterous  I  am.  I  see 
through  and  through  you;"  it  does  not  say,  "  I  am  deep- 
ly interested  in  your  welfare,  and  would  like  to  talk  of 
so-and-so  with  you,"  etc. 

"By  the  bye,  what  has  become  of  the  sea-king?" 
John  asked.  "  I  have  not  seen  or  heard  of  him  since  I 
came." 

"  Peter  Veitch,  you  mean  ? "  Miss  Raeburn  said. 
"  He  is  at  sea  5  but  he  is  expected  home  about  this  time." 

"  Does  he  come  home  every  time  his  ship  is  in  ?  " 

"Not  every  time;  but  he  is  expected  at  pres- 
ent." 

"  I  used  to  think  Bell  Sinclair  had  a  sneaking  kind- 
ness for  him." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Miss  Raeburn. 

"  Did  you  never  think  so,  Mr.  Doubleday  ?  You 
who  see  so  sharply  into  things,  is  Bell's  •  heart  still  to 
let,  think  you  ?  " 

"  To  let ! "  said  Mr.  Doubleday,  to  whose  ears  the 
very  sound  of  Bell's  name  was  something  sacred ;  "  to 
let ! " 

"  Yes ;  you  know  what  I  mean — has  it  got  a  ten- 
ant?" 


320  QUIXSTAR. 

"  Can't  you  peep  in  yourself,  John,  and  see  ?  "  said 
Miss  Raeburn. 

"Well,  no.  You  can't  quite  make  out  Bell  at  a 
glance,  and  I  have  no  time  for  a  protracted  siege,  which 
it  might  be  if  the  place  is  well  garrisoned. — Come,  Mr. 
Doubleday,  have  you  no  inkling  of  the  state  of  affairs  ?  " 

Mr.  Doubleday  said,  "  I  have  heard — I  have  been 
told  that  her  affections  are  engaged,  but  it  may  be  a 
mistake — it  may  be  all  a  mistake."  As  he  spoke  the 
last  words  he  kindled  to  life  at  the  idea.  He  had  all 
along  thought  that  John  Gilbert -was  the  man.  Peter 
Veitch  seemed  an  unlikely  substitute. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Doubleday,  thank  you  for  taking 
such  a  lively  interest  in  me.  If  I  win  Bell  you'll  go 
with  us  to  Hongatonga,  won't  you  ?  But  first  you  and 
I  must  find  out  if  there  is  any  chance  before  I  bring  up 
the  siege-train." 

Miss  Raeburn  looked  pretty  steadily  at  John — she 
had  a  sort  of  feeling  that  he  was  performing  on  her  the 
operation  vulgarly  known  as  throwing  dust  in  your 
eyes.  If  he  was,  his  face  did  not  betray  him  in  any 
way. 

That  evening  on  his  way  home  he  dropped  in  at 
Old  Battle  House.  George  Raeburn  was  there  also ; 
and  they  had  a  little  concert,  both  vocal  and  instrumen- 
tal. Mrs.  Sinclair  remarked  that  John  was  a  great  ac- 
quisition— he  could  do  anything,  and  do  anything  well ; 
and  George  echoed  her.  He  had  not  the  slightest  tinge 
of  jealousy;  not  however  from  the  exceeding  loyalty 
of  his  own  nature,  for  he  was  keen,  and  shrewd,  and 
proud,  but  because  George  Raeburn's  betrothed  was 
above  suspicion. 


CHAPTER  XL VII. 

"  You  are  not  much  given,  Mr.  Doubleday,"  resumed 
Miss  Raeburn,  as  they  sat  at  night  by  the  fire, "  to  spec- 
ulate on  men  and  things  ?  You  take  people,  I  fancy,  to 
be  pretty  much  what  they  seem  ?  " 

It  was  at  such  a  time  and  in  such  circumstances  that 
Mr.  Doubleday  shone.  Alone  with  his  hostess  in  an 
atmosphere  that  suited  him,  he  was  so  good;  so  great 
even,  and  so  lovable,  that  had  there  ever  been  a  person 
in  the  wide  world  sufficiently  interested  in  him  to  draw 
him  out,  he  might  have  been  found  to  have  no  small  con- 
versational talents.  But  there  had  not  been,  and  penury 
had  chilled  the  genial  current  of  his  soul,  as  it  has  done 
that  of  many  another  besides  his. 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said.  I  don't  speculate  on  peo- 
ple as  individuals ;  but  neither  do  I  take  them  for  what 
they  seem.  I  have  a  kind  of  instinct  that  serves  me  as 
a  guide." 

"  Like  children  and  dogs,  perhaps ;  but  I  have  seen 
both  children  and  dogs  make  great  mistakes." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  I'm  infallible,  but  my  world  is  not 
the  world  of  men,  so  it  matters  the  less." 

"  And  why  shouldn't  your  world  be  the  world  of 
men  ?  On  what  ground  do  you  claim  the  right  to  stand 
aside?" 

"  From  unfitness." 

"  Nonsense ! " 
14* 


322  QUIXSTAR. 

"  It  is  true.     I  shrink — " 

"  Ah,  I  can  believe  that  you  shrink.  Well,  I  don't. 
I  have  the  necessary  amount  of  impudence  when  I  am 
abroad  in  the  world  to  feel  myself  as  clever  as  other 
people,  and  cleverer  than  some.  But  there  was  a  time 
in  my  life  when  I  could  have  gone  largely  into  the  shrink 
business,  and  I  understand  that  kind  of  thing.  There  is 
a  way  for  people,  though,  afflicted  with  incurable  shrink, 
to  descend  into  the  arena,  which  I  wonder  you  have 
never  thought  of — why  not  turn  author?" 

"Compile  a  school-book  —  a  Latin  primer?  They 
exist  by  the  dozen  already,  better  than  I  could  make." 

"  You  know  if  you  are  going  to  wait  till  you  supply 
a  felt  want — till  there  is  a  vacant  nitch  for  you  to  fill, 
you'll  be  like  the  man  who  sat  down  till  the  river  would 
flow  past  and  let  him  over  dry-shod.  But  I  didn't  mean 
a  school-book.  You  have  read  immensely,  and  you 
must  have  thought  a  great  deal.  You  don't  mean  to 
tell  me  that  the  thoughts  of  such  a  man  as  you  are 
worth  nothing?" 

His  face  flushed — these  were  perhaps  the  first  words 
of  appreciation  and  encouragement  that  had  ever  fallen 
on  his  ear. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "I've  thrown  in  the  acorn;  I  shall 
long  to  see  the  oak.  How  proud  I  shall  be ! " 

"  Oaks  are  long  in  coming  to  maturity." 

"  Oh,  but  I'll  wait  a  little.  If  I  just  see  the  first 
tender  shoot  beginning  to  appear,  I'll  be  satisfied. 
Well  begun  is  half  ended,  you  know." 

Mr.  Doubleday  sat  in  silence  for  some  time — that 
silence  which  is  the  flood-gate  of  the  deeper  heart. 
Appreciation  by  a  person  for  whom  he  had  a  regard — 
honest,  hearty  appreciation,  without  a  tinge  of  pity  or 
patronage  in  it,  was  an  entire  novelty  to  him.  Miss 


QUIXStAR.  323 

Raeburn  had  small  idea  of  the  depths  in  him  she  had 
stirred. 

"  What  will  you  begin  with  ?  "  she  went  on.  "  Not 
a  novel,  I  imagine.  I  have  sometimes  thought  I  would 
like  to  write  a  novel  myself.  Couldn't  you  and  I  go 
snacks  in  writing  one  ?  " 

"  I  know,"  said  he, "  nobody  would  read  my  part  of 
it  after  it  was  written." 

"  I  don't  see  that  at  all.  There  is  no  end  to  the  va- 
riety of  tastes,  and  what  does  not  suit  one  suits  another. 
What  do  you  say  to  threading  up  the  people  round  us  ? 
I  think  they  would  do  very  well." 

"  Doesn't  a  novel  need  something  striking  ?  Are  the 
people  here  sufficiently  outstanding,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Quite  sufficiently,  if  we  could  make  them  stand 
out — that's  the  difficulty.  We  might  be  the  better  of 
a  bit  of  scarlet,  but  we  could  try  to  manufacture  it  for 
ourselves ;  and  if  John  Gilbert  were  dipped  in  sepia — 
he  is  clever  and  gentlemanly — and  made  some  shades 
blacker,  he  would  be  a  very  good  scoundrel." 

"  I  thought  you  liked  John  Gilbert  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  love  him.  I  can't  help  it.  People  say  you 
can't  love  what  you  don't  respect.  That  must  be  a  mis- 
take. What  does  your  instinct  say  of  him  ?  " 

"  I  «iever  could  trust  my  instinct  about  him." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  He  caused  me  so  much  suffering  !  " 

"  Suffering !     John  Gilbert !     How  ?  " 

"  I  imagined — I  thought  that  he  and  Bell  Sinclair — 
that  Bell  Sinclair  and  he  were — " 

"  Were  lovers  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  how  I  have  loved  her !  Oh,  how  I 
have  loved  her —  He  stopped  as  if  ashamed,  and  said 
in  lower  tones,  "  I  have  never  spoken  of  it,  but  your 


324  QUIXSTAR. 

sympathy  drew  me  on.  Do  you  think  it  possible  that  a 
woman — such  a  woman  as  Bell  Sinclair — could  love 
me?" 

"  I  think  it  possible,  and  most  likely,  if  she  did  not 
love  some  one  else.  Bell  does  that.  I'm  sure  of  it ;  as 
sure  as  if  she  had  told  me." 

"  But  she  did  not  tell  you,"  he  said  eagerly ;  "  and 
you  may  be  mistaken." 

"  No,  Mr.  Doubleday ;  it  would  be  cruel  to  let  you 
think  so,  but  I  am  glad  you  have  spoken  of  it.  It  is  a 
sorry  business  to  eat  one's  own  heart  in  silence ;  and  let 
us  be  thankful  she  does  not  love  John.  It's  a  wonder," 
she  went  on,  half  speaking  to  herself;  "  it's  a  wonder — 
so  much  of  the  very  best  love  in  this  world  is  wasted. 
No,  not  wasted.  Such  love  as  yours,  Mr.  Doubleday, 
cannot  be  wasted.  The  trees  shed  their  leaves  only  to 
be  enriched  by  them  again,  and  you'll  be  richer;  your 
book  will  be  richer,  and  thereby  mankind  will  be  richer 
through  your  disappointed  love." 

Mr.  Doubleday  smiled  a  ghastly  smile. 

"  Besides,"  she  went  on,  "  love  cannot  be  disappoint- 
ed. A  woman  wanting  to  marry  for  a  home,  or  a  man 
for  the  sake  of  comfort,  may  be  disappointed,  but  love 
cannot.  Love  goes  on  loving." 

"  I  know  that  well,"  said  he  wearily.  * 

"  Ah,"  thought  Miss  Raeburn,  as  she  went  to  bed, 
"  that  is  a  page  for  our  novel.  Poor  man,  Mr.  Doubleday 
does  not  seem  to  have  been  made  for  success  in  any  shape. 
He  has  been  made  for  something  higher  and  better. 
Modest  merit  goes  to  the  wall  in  this  world.  Commend 
me  to  the  Secretary  of  the  Rational  Relaxation  Society. 
He'll  not  stick  at  trifles,"  and  as  Mr.  Miller  and  his 
doings  came  up  before  her  she  laughed.  "  I  declare," 
she  thought,  "  we'll  put  him  into  our  novel  too.  I'll 


QUIXSTAR.  325 

do  Mr.  Doubleday,  and  he'll  never  recognize  himself; 
and  he  and  Mr.  Miller,  and  Mr.  Sinclair  and  Mr.Kennedy, 
will  contrast  like  the  white  and  pink  and  purple  and 
yellow  flowers  in  a  ribbon  border." 


CHAPTER  XL VIII. 

MR.  SINCLAIR'S  hall  was  nearly  finished,  and  it  was 
a  neat,  substantial  thing,  not  by  any  means  destitute  of 
ornament  either;  attached  to  it  was  a  reading-room, 
and  accommodation  for  a  library,  in  which  a  nucleus  of 
books  was  already  placed.  In  front,  close  to  the  street, 
was  a  handsome  drinking-fountain  for"  man  and  beast; 
and  the  ground  round  the  building  and  between  it  and 
the  fountain  was  laid  out  in  flowers  and  grass.  Mr.  Sin- 
clair would  have  handed  over  his  building  to  the  town 
quietly,  but  Mr.  Miller  knew  better,  and  he  was  instant 
in  season,  and  very  often,  to  refined  tastes,  out  of  sea- 
son. Mr.  Sinclair  disliked  "  push," — specially  disliked 
it  carried  into  religious  or  benevolent  movements ;  but 
what  will  you?  Even  commercially  he  disliked  it. 
The  business  into  which  he  had  entered,  so  much  against 
his  inclination,  had,  from  a  small  beginning  made  by  his 
great-granduncle,  struck  root  and  spread  gradually  and 
securely.  There  had  been  no  forcing,  and  to  push  like 
younger  houses  would  have  been  beneath  its  dignity. 
Such  a  thing  as  an  extra  demonstration  at  the  opening 
of  the  hall  would  not  have  occurred  to  Mr.  Sinclair,  but 
Mr.  Miller  suggested  the  wisdom  and  propriety  of  a 
grand  opening  night. 

"  They  never,"  he  urged,  "  could  have  such  an  oppor- 
tunity of  gathering  a  meeting.  People  would  come,  if 
only  from  curiosity,  and  why  not  turn  curiosity  to  a 
good  account  ?  " 


QUIXSTAK.  327 

"  Well,  well,  if  it  is  to  do  good,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  It  will  do  an  immense  deal  of  good — immense — at 
least  we  must  hope  so,  and  not  lose  such  an  opportunity." 

Accordingly  Mr.  Miller  vigorously  rushed  in  where 
Mr.  Sinclair  very  much  disliked  to  tread  ;  not  that  the 
Secretary  was  a  fool,  very  far  from  that — he  was  a  real- 
ly good,  energetic,  earnest  man,  clad,  it  may  be,  in  a 
rather  thickish  skin,  a  species  of  garment  admirably 
adapted  for  wear  in  this  world,  but  not  to  be  had  ready- 
made  in  any  tailor's  shop,  so  far  as  I  am  aware.  Think 
of  a  patent  pachyderm  overcoat.  The  man  who  could 
invent  that  would  be  nearly  as  blessed  as  the  man  who 
invented  sleep.  However  expensive  it  might  be,  I 
would  hasten  to  present  one  to  Mr.  Doubleday,  and 
another  to  Mr.  Gilbert,  and  expect  they  would  both 
come  to  the  front  ere  long  sheathed  in  such  a  uniform. 
Neither  was  Mr.  Sinclair  an  angel,  only  a  somewhat 
fastidious  man.  If  he  objected  to  any  of  Mr.  Miller's 
arrangements,  Mr.  Miller  said — 

"  We  must  do  it,  sir.  Keep  ourselves  and  our  ob- 
ject before  the  public.  It  won't  do  in  these  days  to 
creep  about  as  if  wre  were  ashamed." 

"  I've  been  in  a  fair."  said  Mr.  Sinclair,  "  where  all  the 
showmen  tried  which  could  to  make  the  greatest  din. 
The  loudest  noise  attracted  most  customers." 

"  Exactly,  sir — that's  it  to  a  hair.  Do  all  you  can 
to  rouse  attention — it's  the  only  way.  Things  have 
changed  since  your — "  youth  he  was  going  to  say,  but 
he  checked  himself  and  said,  "  Things  are  managed  dif- 
ferently now  from  what  they  once  were." 

Mr.  Miller  drew  up  a  placard,  headed  "  Grand  Inau-' 
guration  Soiree,"  in  very  tall  letters,  all  the  colors  of  the 
rainbow,  and  had  it  affixed  to  every  dead  wall,  and  every 
green  tree,  and  dry-stone  dike  ;  probably  he  cvon  stuck 


328  QUIXSTAR. 

one  on  a  cairn  among  the  hills,  that  the  birds  of  the  air 
might  carry  the  matter,  and  he  did  not  hesitate  to  enclose 
half-a-dozen  copies  to  Mr.  Kennedy  with  compliments, 
and  a  polite  request  that  he  would  intimate  the  meeting 
from  his  pulpit  on  the  following  Sunday.  Mr.  Kennedy 
was  very  wroth,  thinking  that  Mr.  Sinclair  was  the  au- 
thor of  this  audacious  and  gratuitous  insult,  whereas 
that  individual  knew  nothing  of  the  circumstance. 

The  Secretary  was  jubilant  when  Lady  Winkworth. 
sent  for  some  dozens  of  tickets  to  distribute  among  her 
dependants,  and  declared  her  intention  of  being  present 
herself.  Her  Ladyship  took  fits  of  trying  to  do  good — 
spasmodic  they  were,  and  not  always  productive  of 
benefit,  as  witness  her  visits  to  the  laborers'  cottages, 
where  in  a  family  of  half-a-dozen  children  it  may  be  sup- 
posed that  crusts  for  puddings  were  not  very  plentiful, 
and  gigots  of  mutton  unknown,  but  her  benevolent 
efforts  were  very  sincere. 

Decidedly  Mr.  Miller  had  a  touch  of  greatness  about 
him,  for  he  could  infect  others  with  a  portion  of  his  own 
enthusiasm ;  for  example,  he  infected  Bell  Sinclair,  who 
threw  herself  into  the  occasion  with  all  her  might,  and 
drew  with  her  her  sister,  Miss  Raeburn,  Peter  Veitch — 
who  had  arrived  in  the  nick  of  time, — John  Gilbert,  and 
Mary,  and  George  Raeburn.  She  did  not  attempt  to 
enlist  Mr.  Doubleday  ;  indeed,  Miss  Raeburn  had  given 
her  the  slightest,  faintest,  far-awayest  hint  of  the  state  of 
matters  in  that  quarter,  that  Bell  might  shape  her  man- 
ner a  little  less  affectionately  towards  Mr.  Doubleday — 
for  you  see  Mr.  D.  did  not  know,  how  should  he  ?  that 
•a  free,  frank  show  of  interest  is  no  sign  of  love,  but  the 
opposite.  These  two  woman  were  incapable  of  discuss- 
ing such  a  thing  as  this  fully,  far  less  of  making  it  the 
subject  of  a  joke.  It  was  a  danger  that  had  not  occurred 


QUIXSTAR.  329 

to  Bell ;  she  loved  Mr.  Doubleday  as  Mr.  Doubleday, 
but — well,  Miss  Raeburn  had  told  him  that  it  was  a 
likely  thing  she  should  love  him  if  she  did  not  love 
some  one  else ;  the  truth  is  it  was  not  a  likely  thing — it 
was  possible,  of  course,  anything  is  possible,  but  it  was 
not  likely. 

When  Bell  and  her  corps  of  volunteers  employed 
themselves  for  a  day  or  two  adorning  the  hall  for  the 
grand  occasion,  Miss  Raeburn  seated  Mr.  Doubleday  in 
state  at  a  desk,  that  he  might  begin  the  projected  book. 

"  What  will  you  call  it.  think  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  have  been  meditating  on  that.  Dreams  from  the 
Depths  of  Dreariness  would  be  descriptive  and  allitera- 
tive." 

"  Trash  !  "  said  Miss  Raeburn.  "  I'm  not  going  to 
humor  you — not  too  far  at  least;  set  to  work  cheerily, 
disappointments  should  only  make  people  braver." 

"  If  that's  true  I  should  be  the  impersonation  of 
bravery  by  this  time." 

"  If  you  don't  set  to  work  instantly, "  said  she, "  I'll 
get  your  name  put  into  these  flaming  placards  as  one  of 
the  speakers  on  the  grand  opening  night ;  keep  that  in 
mind,  and  be  good." 

The  hall  was  large,  and  there  were  several  workmen 
present  to  help  with  the  decorations,  but  after  the  general 
effect  was  planned  the  amateur  decorators  separated  to 
superintend  the  details.  They  paired  by  natural  selec- 
tion, Bell  having  Captain  Veitch  as  her  lieutenant, 
George,  as  a  matter  of  course,  attending  Effie,  while  Miss 
Raeburn  was  left  with  Mary  and  John  Gilbert.  John 
and  Mary  looked  after  the  others  as  they  moved  away. 
Mary  said,  "  Eflie  is  very  pretty ;  I  don't  wonder  at 
George's  taste." 

"  Too  pretty  for  a  poor  man,"  said  John.     "  I  don't 


330  QUIXSTAR. 

wonder  at  his  taste,  but  I  wonder  prodigiously  at 
hers." 

"  Do  you  ?  Why,  what  fault  have  you  to  George  ?  " 
Mary  asked.  Mary  had  a  gentle  liking  for  George  Rae- 
burn,  which  under  sunshine  would  have  grown  and  ri- 
pened into  love,  as  surely  and  imperceptibly  as  the 
peach  grows  and  ripens  from  crude  greenness  into  the 
soft,  delicious  fruit,  clad  in  purple  velvet  shot  with 
green,  but  this  was  not  to  be,  it  appeared. 

"What  fault  have  you?"  she  said.  "I  am  sure  he 
loves  Effie  quite  as  much  as  if  she  had  not  a  farthing  in 
the  world." 

"  Quite  as  much,"  said  John,  "  and  a  great  deal  more. 
George  is  not  the  man  to  marry  the  beggar  maid." 

"  I  think  you  are  wrong  there,"  said  his  sister. 

"  I  think  so  too,"  said  Miss  Raeburn.  "  George  is  a 
keen  business  man,  and  fond  of  making  money,  but  he 
would  not  marry  for  it,  I  am  confident." 

John  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Deplorable,  isn't  it, 
Miss  Raeburn,  for  a  poor  wretch  like  me  to  be  left  out 
in  the  cold  ?  You  perceive  I  was  right  about  Bell  and 
the  sea-king  ?  No  use  bringing  up  my  artillery  there." 

"  I  see  they  are  standing  speaking  together  ;  I  don't 
see  anything  more  at  this  moment." 

"  Of  course  not.  It's  a  great  shame  ;  I  ought  to  have 
had  one  of  them,  and  wpuld  have  had  if  I  had  not  gone 
away.  ;  Oh  why  left  I  my  hame,  why  did  I  cross  the 
deep  ? '  What  do  you  suppose  people  in  these  circum- 
stances get  to  say,  Miss  Raeburn  ?  "  looking  across  to 
where  Bell  and  Peter  were  standing.  "  I  can't  imagine 
— it's  not  the  eloquence  of  silence,  you'll  observe,"  and 
he  strolled  along  the  hall,  and  in  a  little  joined  Effie  and 
George. 

"  George,"  he   said,  "  Miss  Raeburn's   compliments, 


QUIXSTAR.  331 

and  she  wants  your  advice  as  to  whether  there  should 
be  a  crown  or  a  star  in  bay  leaves  over  the  platform.  I 
say  a  star;  what  sense  is  there  in  a  crown  ?  unless,  in- 
deed, it  means  to  indicate  that  Rational  Relaxations 
crown  a  youth  of  labor  with  an  age  of  ease ;  but  a  star 
— a  star,  you  see,  is  the  emblem  of  brilliancy  and  hope 
and  general  excelsiorism,  and  they  should  appeal  to  the 
young ;  why,  by  the  time  a  man  is  my  age  it  would  take 
a  steam-engine  to  drag  him  out  of  his  ruts.  What  say 
you,  Erne — a  crown  or  a  star  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  star,  by  all  means  a  star ! " 

"  Convey  our  sentiments  to  Miss  Raeburn,  will  you, 
George,  and  your  own,  and  I'll  help  Effie  till  you  come 
back?" 

George  went  to  the  other  end  of  the  hall,  and  had  a 
long  confabulation  with  his  aunt  and  Mary,  at  the  end 
of  which  they  looked  where  Effie  and  John  were  stand- 
ing with  their  backs  to  them ;  suddenly  Effie  turned, 
and  they  saw  her  face. 

"  Isn't  she  beautiful  when  she  is  so  animated  ? " 
George  said. 

"  Yes,  and  she  is  very  animated  just  now ;  John  must 
be  finding  something  to  say." 

"  Something  amusing,  no  doubt,"  said  George ;  "  he 
is  not  often  at  a  loss." 

Effie  was  saying  at  this  moment  to  John,  certainly 
with  animation,  "  Go — 'for  any  sake  go  ;  people  are  not 
blind." 

"No;  but  what  can  they  see? — nothing;  they  can't 
hear,  luckily,  and  we  are  not  among  tell-tale  rushes." 

"  Rushes  or  not,  John  Gilbert,  go.  I'll  not  have  you 
stay  any  longer;  do  go,"  she  ended  in  a  tone  of  en- 
treaty. 

George    came   up    to  them.     We  were  wondering 


332  QUIXSTAR. 

what  you  were  discussing  with  such  interest,"  he 
said. 

"Miss  Raeburn's  age,"  said  John.  "I  was  just  say- 
ing that  to  see  her  whisking  about  at  the  other  end  of 
the  hall  you  might  take  her  for  sixteen.  I  would  fall 
in  love  with  her  if  I  thought  I  had  a  chance." 

"  You  might  try,  said  George  dryly. 

"  Au  revoir,  then ;  keep  an  eye  on  us,  when  you  see 
me  sink  gracefully  on  one  knee  you'll  know  what  I  am 
about." 

"  He'll  go  to  destruction  yet,"  said  George,  looking 
after  him. 

"  Oh  no  !"  cried  Effie  in  sharp,  sudden  tones. 

"  You  don't  like  to  hear  me  say  so,  and  I  don't  like 
to  say  it,  but  think  of  his  father  toiling  among  a  pack  of 
unruly  children  while  he  hangs  about  idle.  He  ought  to 
be  flogged.  A  man  of  ability,  too,  for  almost  any 
thing." 

There  was  no  rejoinder. 

By  this  time  Bell  and  Peter  had  strayed  into  the 
library,  which  they  had  all  to  themselves,  and  both  were 
to  appearance  intently  occupied  in  examining  it. 

"  Plenty  of  room  for  books  here,"  said  Bell. 

"  Yes." 

"  If  people  can  be  got  to  read,  it  is  a  good  habit." 

«  Yes." 

"  When  kept  in  its  place,  and  people  don't  forget 
their  work  for  it." 

"  Of  course,  of  course." 

"  What  kind  of  books  do  you  like  best  ?  " 

"  Oh,  any  kind.  Never  mind  books,"  said  he.  She 
moved  hastily  away.  Instinctively  she  felt  what  was 
coming,  and  she  was  afraid — afraid  with  that  strange 
kind  of  fear  that  is  compounded  of  intense  hope  and  joy. 


QUIXSTAR.  333 

"  Bell,"  he  said  bluntly,  "  you  promised  not  to  forget 
me.  Can  you  marry  a  sailor  ?  " 

She  answered,  but  -not  to  the  ear.  That  was  out  of 
her  power  for  the  moment,  but  he  understood  right 
well. 

"  I  can  hardly  believe  it's  ti-ue,"  he  said  after  a  little. 
"  Do  you  know  you  have  been  at  sea  with  me  for 
years  ?  " 

"  Have  I  ?  You  would  not  leave  the  sea  ?  You 
like  it." 

He  looked  at  her  anxiously.  '''  It  was  my  first  love," 
he  said,  "  and  I  cling  to  it." 

"  You  have  not  married  it,  I  hope,  like  the  Doges  of 
Venice  ?  for  I  would  not  have  you  commit  bigamy." 

"  So  far  that  I  stick  to  it  for  better  and  for  worse. 
Don't  tempt  me  to  be  unfaithful.  You  have  promised 
to  marry  a  sailor,  and  I  hold  you  to  it." 

"  I  can  bear  your  absence ;  but  oh,  if  you  were  drown- 
ed!" 

"  I'll  not  be  drowned  if  I  can  help  it.  Life  is  very 
dear  to  me,  for  your  sake." 

"  I'll  bear  it,"  she  said ;  "  even  if  you  are  drowned. 
I'll  live  on  the  past  till  we  meet  again." 

"  I  knew  it,"  he  said  triumphantly ;  "  I  knew  that  I 
had  loved  both  wisely  and  well." 

"  I  love,  but  I  did  not  think  about  wisdom.  How- 
ever, I  hope  you  are  good.  Indeed,  I  believe  it,"  she 
said  simply. 

"  I  try  to  be  so,  at  least,  and  you'll  help  me." 

"  Rather  you'll  help  me.  Do  you  know  I  loved  you 
before  you — before  I  thought  you  cared  for  me  at  all 
— and  I  was  frightened  you  never  would  care  for  me  ? 
How  miserable  I  would  have  been,  and  how  I  would 
have  despised  myself  for  making  my  own  misery  !  When 


334  QUIXSTAK. 

you  used  to  come  to  uncle  for  mathematics  I  strained 
my  ears  to  hear  your  voice  as  you  came  in  and  went  out. 
I  feel  ashamed  of  it  yet." 

He  listened  with  eager  delight  in  his  face.  "  Say  it 
again,"  he  said. 

"  One  confession  is  enough." 

"  I  had  the  start  of  you,  though  ;  I  loved  you  when 
at  school,  and  I  never  despaired  of  winning  you." 

''  That's  very  like  you.  I  believe  I  have  made  my- 
self too-cheap." 

"  I  never  despaired  of  winning  you  when  you  were 
out  of  my  sight,  but  when  I  came  near  you—" 
.    "  I  acted  as  a  scarecrow." 

"  I  was  frightened." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  can  be  frightened.  I  would 
not  have  believed  it." 

"  Well,  that's  all  over.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  in  a 
dream — " 

At  this  point  John  Gilbert  walked  in. 

"  Well,  it's  cool,  I  must  say,  of  you  two  to  shut  your- 
selves in  here  with  your  favorite  authors,  and  leave  us 
to  toil  among  bays  and  laurels,  with  no  hope  of  wearing 
any.  Were  you  explaining  the  Gulf  Stream,  Captain 
Veitch,  to  Miss  Sinclair — how  is  it  the  great  weather- 
breeder  of  the  North  Atlantic  ?  I  would  like  a  little 
information  about  it  myself." 

"I  daresay  we  "have  stayed  too  long,"  said  Peter. 
"  Come,  we'll  go  and  help  you  if  we  can." 

"  You  can't,  for  we're  done ;  but  it  is  proposed  that 
we  meet  here  to-morrow  to  cut  bread  and  butter." 

"  Bread  and  butter  ?  "  queried  Bell. 

"Yes — to  add  to  the  bill  of  fare  to-morrow  night; 
it  is  thought  it  will  make  the  thing  like  a  family.  A  ton 
of  bread  and  butter  wouldn't  make  me  feel  like  a  family. 


QUIXSTAB.  335 

but  imaginations  differ,  so  by  all  means  let  us  meet. 
The  hall  holds  five  hundred.  Each  will  need  a  loaf — 
each  loaf  will  need  two  pounds  of  butter.  Yes,  there 
will  be  Mrork  for  the  whole  of  us. — Captain  Veitch, 
you'll  bring  your  cutlass  to  cut  the  bread,  and  I'll  bring 
a  few  trowels  to  manage  the  -butter,  but  mind,  Bell 
and  you  must  not  get  into  the  Gulf  Stream  again." 

"  Really,  John,  you  must  make  a  speech,"  said  Miss 
Raeburn. 

"  If  I  were  not  so  fatally  bashful,"  said  he.  "  No,  no ; 
the  bread  and  butter  is  my  line.  I'll  stick  to  it,  but 
you'll  get  Mr.  Doubleday  to  speak. — By  the  way,  Bell, 
do  you  know  why  he  is  not  here  to-day  V  " 

"  I  suppose  it  was  his  own  good  pleasure  to  stay  at 
home." 

"  Ah,  you  have  heard  the  pretty  fiction  about  the 
oyster  when  it  gets  a  wound  ?  It  straightway  plasters  a 
pearl  over  it.  Well,  Mr.  Doubleday  has  begun  the 
pearl  business.  He  is  a  stricken  deer — not  that  deer 
make  pearls,  do  they  ?  " 

"  What  puts  such  nonsense  into  your  head  John  ?  " 
asked  Miss  Raeburn,  laughing. 

"  My  general  omniscience.  And  Bell.  Mr.  Double- 
day  has  the  pen  in  hand  to  write  a  book,  to  be  entitled 
'  A  Rope  of  Pearls  ;  or  the  Thoughts  of  A  Doubleday. 
By  a  Single  Man.' " 

"  It's  a  pity,  John,"  said  George  Raeburn,  "  that  the 
office  of  jester  is  out  of  date.  You  might  have  filled  it 
to  some  potentate." 

"If  he  who  wins  laughs,  you  should  be  more  fitted 
for  that  post  at  present  than  me,"  said  John. 

"  I  never  attempt  wit,"  said  George. 

"  Wherein  your  wisdom  shines  out,"  retorted  John. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

A  SOIKEE  or  tea-meeting  is  not  reckoned  a  high-class 
entertainment.  Whether  Miss  Raeburn  would  have  given 
a  page  or  two  of  her  novel  to  it  cannot  be  known ;  but 
when  it  has  figured  in  a  novel,  it  has  been  as  a  subject 
for  ridicule  on  account  of  being  vulgar  and  common- 
place. Fastidious  people  may  go  to  such  a  thing  as  ex- 
pediency compels,  but  they  are  either  bored  o^r  disgusted, 
or  both.  And  in  all  conscience  the  vulgar  and  the  com- 
monplace abound,  as  they  do  in  every  assembly  of  hu- 
man beings.  The  vulgarity  exhibited  at  a  garden-party 
at  a  nobleman's  mansion  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames 
may  be  less  coarse,  but  it  is  not  therefore  a  better  ar- 
ticle ;  and  the  refined  individual  who  gives  the  light  of 
his  countenance  to  a  tea-meeting  in  the  certainty  of  be- 
ing bored  or  disgusted,  will  be  so ;  he  has  neither  the 
insight  nor  the  sympathy  to  know  all  that  is  before  him. 
What  to  him  are  the  lined  faces  that  light  up  at  a  joke 
not  worth  a  smile — the  horny  hands — the  wroman  fat 
and  frank,  her  face  shining  with  soap,  with  a  child  by 
her  side  and  another  on  her  knee,  which  her  husband 
takes  when  it  gets  heavy  with  sleep — the  elderly  thin 
woman  with  the  blank  expression,  resulting  from  living 
alone  in  one  little  room — the  sharp,  ambitious  artisan 
who  chafes  at  being  kept  down  and  kept  back  for  want 
of  that  education  he  sees  men  get  who  can  neither  use  it 
nor  value  it — the  giggling  girls  and  the  awkward  lads. 


QUIXSTAR.  337 

coarse  enough,  to  be  sure,  but  out  of  whom  in  a  year  or 
two  hard  toil  will  take  the  buoyancy — the  decent,  pawkie 
man  who,  though  not  refined,  sees  pretty  far  into  a 
milestone,  and  can  take  the  measure  of  things  in  his  own 
way  ?  They  are  nothing  >to  him,  for  he  does  not  see 
them.  Of  course,  there  is  the  smug  successful  trades- 
man with  the  unctuous  face  and  the  narrow  soul;  but 
narrow  souls  are  not  confined  to  one  rank.  If  he  had 
been  a  few  rounds  higher  up  the  ladder,  his  narrow- 
ness and  self-complacency  might  have  been  under  a 
thicker  veil,  perhaps.  Does  the  refined  man  know  how 
far  he  himself  is  the  creature  of  circumstances,  and  that 
circumstances  mean  divine  sovereignty  ? 

Bell  went  to  the  hall  next  forenoon  alone.  Erne  had 
had  enough  of  it,  she  said ;  George  had  gone  to  Iron- 
burgh,  intending  however  to  be  back  for  the  evening's 
entertainment;  and  Miss  Raeburn  stayed  at  home  to 
look  after  her  guest.  On  reaching  the  theatre  of  opera- 
tions, Bell  saw  written  in  chalk  on  the  fountain  the 
words,  "  Adam's  wine,  uncommon  fine,"  and  on  the 
door  of  the  hall,  "  Sinclair's  snuff-box  will  hold  us  all  at 
a  pinch,"  and  she  laughed.  Inside  the  door  were  Peter 
Veitch  and  Mr.  Miller  talking. 

"  Ah,  Mr  Miller,"  she  said,  "  the  mind  of  the  com- 
munity is  waking  up  already.  Have  you  seen  the  in- 
scriptions outside  ?  "  and  she  laughed  again. 

"  No,"  he  said,  and  went  out  to  take  a  survey. 

"  The  wit,"  she  said  to  Peter,  "  is  not  excessively 
bright ;  but  when  one  is  very  happy,  it  is  so  easy  to 
laugh.'1  One  can  imagine  his  answer. 

"  How  is  it  you  are  alone  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  explained. 

"  We  are  in  luck,  then,"  said  he. 
15 


338  QUIXSTAR. 

"  Do  you  call  it  luck  to  have  all  their  work  to  do  as 
well  as  our  own  ?  " 

"  Decidedly.  But  I  don't  see  why  you  should  work. 
Let  the  people  that  do  the  rest  manage  the  bread  and 
butter." 

"  I  could  do  that ;  but  I  want  to  show  my  warm  in- 
terest in  the  affair,  so  we'll  begin.  You  can  help,  if  you 
like." 

But  he  did  not  help  much — he  rather  hindered. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  awkward  at  this  work,"  she  said. 

"  Glad  !  I  should  think  you  would  rather  be  sorry." 

"  No,  for  I  have  observed  that  men  good  for  little 
household  matters  are  often  not  good  for  much  else." 

"  How  should  that  be  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  doubt  he  is  not  the  perfect  man  who  stands 
at  one  end  of  the  line,  and  he  is  the  perfect  man  who 
stands  at  both  ends,  and  fills  and  illustrates  all  between  ; 
but  we  don't  have  men  of  that  stamp  about  Quixstar. 
I  should  think  they  are  not  very  plentiful  anywhere." 

"  Then  you  are  not  quite  blind  to  my  faults  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  speaking  of  faults.  I  know  well  enough 
you  are  not  perfect,  but  you"  are  a  good  match  for  me — 
that  is,  I  think  I  can  match  you.  I  would  not  like  to 
feel  myself  inferior." 

"  The  man  is  the  head  of  the  woman,"  said  Peter 
solemnly. 

"  The  heads  are  one,  and  both  are  either.  You'll 
find  that." 

"  I  hope  I  shall.  I  find  it  already,  and  it's  a  delight- 
ful sensation." 

Shortly  Eflie  and  John  Gilbert  walked  in. 

"  I  took  a  remorse  of  conscience."  said  Effie,  "  and 
came  to  see  if  you  would  really  be  •  the  better  for  my 
help." 


QUIXSTAK.  339 

"  And  I,"  said  John,  "  knew  perfectly  well  you  would 
have  fallen  into  the  Gulf  Stream  again,  and  came  to  pick 
you  out." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Peter.  "  Miss  Sinclair 
has  been  telling  me,  apropos  of  bread  and  butter  cut- 
ting, that  men  who  can  help  with  their  wives'  work  can 
rarely  do  their  own  to  purpose.  Did  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  There  may  be  exceptions,  of  course,"  said  Bell. 
"  Burke  could  describe  a  gown  he  had  seen  on  a  fine 
lady  so  well  that  his  wife  could  make  one  exactly  the 
same  from  his  directions;  but  Burkes  don't  grow -on 
every  hedge." 

"  I  can't  pretend  to  Bell's  range  of  information,"  said 
John,  "  but  I  know  for  certain  that  hedges  often  harbor 
hares." 

"  Oh,  John,  that  is  smart ! "  said  Bell,  while  they  all 
laughed  exuberantly.  "  I  do  enjoy  being  quizzed,  when 
it  is  so  very  well  done." 

"  By  the  way,"  said  John,  "  may  I  ask  when  you  sail, 
Captain  Veitch  ?  " 

"  On  the  20th  of  this  month ;"  and  I  have  to  leave 
Quixstar  the  day  after  to-morrow,  to  my  grief." 

"  To  all  our  griefs,"  said  John  ;  "  but  be  thankful  you 
are  here  for  the  grand  opening  occasion.  Perhaps  you 
may  get  some  hints  you  could  transfer  to  the  world  afloat 
anent  rational  relaxations." 

The  20th  was  the  day  fixed  for  the  wedding  of  Effie 
and  George. 


CHAPTER  L. 

DAYLIGHT  was  jostled  out  of  the  hall  on  the  night 
of  the  inauguration  soiree  by  a  brilliant  flush  of  gas, 
arranged  so  as  to  show  the  building  and  decorations  to 
the  utmost  advantage.  The  place  filled  rapidly,  long 
before  the  hour  of  meeting,  for  the  interest  of  the  public 
had  been  well  stirred,  and  curiosity  was  strong.  The 
Old  Battle  House  party,  with  the  Gilberts,  took  their 
seats  early ;  but  Peter  Veitch,  who  had  that  faculty 
common  to  great  men — if  he  was  not  great — of  never 
losing  a  moment's  time,  arrived  at  the  precise  stroke  of 
the  hour,  and  was  rewarded  by  having  to  stand  during 
the  evening,  which  was  no  punishment,  for  his  position 
commanded  a  full  view  of  Bell  Sinclair's  face,  and  in  the 
seat  at  the  end  of  which  he  stood  were  several  members 
of  the  Smith  family,  the  one  next  him  being  a  young 
lady,  who  interested  and  amused  him  by  her  remarks 
on  men  and  things. 

Lady  Winkworth  drove  up  to  the  door  in  a  carriage 
and  pair,  accompanied  by  a  grandson  and  Mr.  Cranstoun. 
When  Mr.  Miller  heard  this,  which  he  did  immediately 
— for  like  any  other  general  lighting  a  battle  he  had  a 
personal  staff  flying  about  to  bring  him  intelligence  and 
do  his  behests — he  determined  to  have  Mr.  Cranstoun  on 
the  platform.  It  would  sound  well  in  the  newspapers  that 
Mr.  Cranstoun  of  Cranstoun  Hall  was  on  the  platform. 
Accordingly  he  waylaid  that  gentleman,  and  found  no 


QUIXSTAR.  341 

difficulty  whatever  in  carrying  his  point.  Mr.  Cranstoun 
adorned  that  elevation  with  his  gentlemanly  presence  and 
jovial  smile.  Lady  Winkworth,  who  was  an  exceedingly 
stout  woman,  walking  up  the  middle  of  the  hill  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  her  grandson,  a  very  tall,  slim  lad,  suggested 
the  idea  of  a  barrel  escorted  by  a  pencil-case  to  Miss 
Smith,  and  she  suggested  it  to  Captain  Veitch. 

Great  as  Mr.  Miller  in  some  points  undoubtedly  was, 
he  failed  to  originate  any  new  idea  in  the  proceedings  of 
the  evening.  In  the  matter  of  entertainment  for  an 
evening,  public  or  private,  the  inventive  faculty  of  Great 
Britain  seems  now  threadbare  ;  decidedly  she  is  greater 
at  work  than  play.  But  the  grosser  matter  was  on  this 
occasion  a  triumph,  and  the  faces  of  many  of  the  people 
as  they  partook  of  it  proclaimed  that.  The  thin,  wan 
woman  who  lived  in  one  little  room  alone,  for  instance, 
and  sipped  her  weak  beverage  with  no  kindred  glance  to 
meet  hers,  and  no  cheerful  voice  to  chase  the  blank 
expression  from  her  face — why,  the  brilliant  light,  the 
happy-looking  company,  the  profusion  of  good  things, 
were  a  fairy  tale  to  her.  She  could  not  be  merry — she 
had  lost  the  trick  of  it — but  you  saw  grave  gratification 
gather  on  her  face.  She  quaffed  the  tea  as  nectar,  and 
from  the  painfully  thrifty  habits  engendered  by  necessity, 
you  saw  her  gather  all  her  crumbs  together  with  her 
spoon  and  eat  them — at  least  one  person  in  the  assembly 
saw  this  and  understood  it. 

Then  there  was  music.  Bell  Sinclair  had  sent  her 
piano — a  very  fine  one — and  played  on  it  herself,  John 
Gilbert  accompanying  her  on  his  violin.  Most  of  the 
audience  must  have  heard  a  fiddle  of  some  kind  before, 
but  many  of  them  had  never  heard  a  piano,  and  when 
the  sweet  tones  fell  on  the  unaccustomed  ears,  it  seemed 
like  melody  escaped  from  heaven. 


342  QUIXSTAR. 

-"  Do  you  think  Miss  Sinclair  plays  well  ?  "  asked 
Miss  Smith  of  Captain  Veitch. 

"  Exquisitely ! "  he  said  with  enthusiasm.  "  Exquis- 
itely ! " 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  There  were  several  false 
notes  in  that  last  thing  she  played."  ' 

"  May  be.     Not  to  my  ear." 

"  Ah,  your  ear  cannot  be  veiy  acute." 

Peter  Veitch  senior,  unexpectedly  to  his  son — Mr. 
Miller  had  only  pressed  him  into  the  service  after  the 
meeting  was  convened,  not  being  aware  of  his  gift  be- 
fore— contributed  his  share  to  the  evening's  entertain- 
ment, lie  sang  "  O'  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw," 
and  "  Auld  Robin  Gray,"  and  when  he  was  vociferously 
encored  he  gave  "  There's  nae  luck  about  the  house," 
and  he  did  them  well ;  the  -pathos  and  the  humor,  and 
the  language  and  the  singing,  and  the  somewhat  thin, 
toilworn,  undersized  man,  with  the  shrewd,  good-hu- 
mored Scotch  face,  were  all  the  very  best  of  their  kind. 
Some  people  thought  his  part  the  feature  of  the  evening. 

A  Rev.  Dr.  Buckram  came  after  Peter,  but  he 
seemed  to  think  it  was  infra  dig.  for  him  to  be  there  at 
all,  and  he  was  quite  unaccustomed  to  speak  at  soirees, 
which  seemed  to  be  the  case,  as  his  speech  was  a  failure. 

Then  native  talent  showed  again.  A  youth  with  his 
face  at  a  white  heat,  and  looking  dangerously  calm,  gave 
his  ideas  on  "  The  age  we  live  in."  The  age  was  mar- 
vellous— steam,  telegraphs,  girdles  round  the  world  in 
forty  minutes  ;  newspapers,  intelligence,  science,  onward 
march,  rapid  strides,  etc.,  etc.,  but  he  wound  up  by  say- 
ing "  Great  as  the  age  was — and  since  time  was  evolved 
from  chaos,  there  never  had  been  a  greater — it  had  two 
wants :  the  one,  a  first-class  epic  poem ;  the  other,  a 
method  of  travelling  through  the  air,  and  he  doubted  if 


QUIXSTAR.  343 

there  was  any  one  in  Quickstar  capable  of  writing  the 
one  or  inventing  and  organizing  the  other.  But  time 
will  show."  (Great  applause.) 

"  Now,  Captain  Veitch,"  said  Miss  Smith,  "  make 
your  way  to  the  front  and  give  us  '  Tom  Bowling,'  or 
'  Black-Eyed  Susan.' " 

"  Thank  you,  no  ;  the  Veitch  family  has  distinguished 
itself  quite  enough  for  one  night.  I  would  rather  stay 
where  I  am,"  and  he  looked  down  on  her  with  a  smile 
wrhich  made  her  bridle  with  pleasure,  while  he  was  only 
thinking  how  well  he  was  placed  for  seeing  Miss  Sin- 
clair, and  he  thought,  "  Bell  is  not  looking  pleased. 
What  can  be  annoying  her  ?  " 

Would  you  believe  it  ?  Bell  was  jealous — actually 
she  was  small  enough  to  be  jealous.  One  would  not 
have  expected  it ;  but  you  never  can  tell  how  people  are 
to  turn  up.  She  saw  Peter  apparently  enjoying  himself 
amazingly,  and  laughing  and  talking  with  Miss  Smith, 
and  for  the  first  and  last  time  in  her  life  she  was  jeal- 
ous. Probably  she  is  ashamed  of  it  till  this  day.  Peter 
might  have  been  away  for  a  year,  he  might  have  seen 
her  enjoying  herself  in  any  company,  and  he  would  not 
have  been  jealous ;  he  would  as  soon  have  doubted  that 
the  sun  would  rise  next  morning  as  doubted  her ;  in 
which,  you  see,  she  was  not  his  match. 

There  were  a  good  many  lovers  of  low  degree 
sprinkled  over  the  hall.  What  an  evening  it  was  for 
them  !  Like  the  flight  of  the  Prophet,  it  became  an 
era  or  time  to  date  from — both  before  and  after.  Al- 
ready the  finest  human  associations  were  beginning  to 
twine  round  the  stone  and  mortar  of  Mr.  Sinclair's 
hall. 

What  an  evening  too  it  was  for  Effie  Sinclair  !  Ex- 
cept the  time  John  Gilbert  was  playing  the  fiddle,  she 


344  QUIXSTAR. 

had  him  on  her  one  hand,  and  George  Raeburn  on  the 
other.  How  were  her  thoughts  employed  ?  What 
were  her  feelings?  She  was  thinking,  "  Oh,  if  John  had 
only  George's  money  and  position,"  and  as  she  looked 
at  George  his  generally  grave  face  .lighted  up  with  a 
smile  of  tenderness,  and  he  said — 

"  Are  you  tired,  Effie  ?     You  look  a  little  flushed  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.     I  could  sit  here  all  night." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  said  George. 

John  on  the  other  side  said,  "  It  must  be  on  the 
19th,  Effie." 

"  I  don't  think  I  can  do  it,  I  feel  so  guilty.  If  only 
he  knew  or  suspected,  I  wouldn't  feel  so  guilty." 

"  Tell  him,"  said  John,  "  and  see  what  the  effect 
would  be.  Why  should  he  know  it?  In  fact,  it  is 
better  for  him  not  to  know.  It  saves  his  feelings  up  to 
the  last." 

"  Oh,  John,  if  I  only  knew  what  to  do  ! " 

"  You  know  well  enough.  It's  a  sin  to  marry  a  man 
you  don't  love." 

"  But  I  do  love"  him  a  little." 

"  And  me  a  great  deal.     Your  course  is  clear." 

All  this  was  whispered  in  the  shelter  of  a  speech  on 
Rational  Relaxations,  by  a  man  from  Ironburgh,  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Society.  He  was  a  man  whose  hair  seemed 
to  have  made  a  complete  somersault  off  his  head  on  to 
his  chin,  which  it  had  colonized  with  great  vigor.  His 
head  was  so  bald  that,  had  he  lived  in  the  country  where 
eagles  were  common,  one  would  have  dreaded  the  fate 
of  xEschylus  for  him,  whose  death  was  caused  by  an 
eagle  mistaking  his  head  fora  stone,  and  dropping  a  tor- 
toise on  it  to  break  the  shell.  But  his  face  was  so  over- 
grown with  hair  that  when  he  was  speaking  Miss  Smith 
declared  to  Peter  Veitch  that  it  was  like  a  voice  coming 


QUIXSTAR.  345 

out  of  a  bird's  nest.  He  had  the  good  sense  to  be 
brief,  which  was  the  chief  merit  of  his  speech. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Mr.  Miller  had  urged  on 
Mr.  Sinclair  the  propriety  of  handing  over  the  hall  pub- 
licly to  the  town  authorities  (whoever  they  might  be) 
assembled  in  full  durbar,  but  as  old  Peter  Veitch  said, 
"Mr.  Sinclair  fairly  reisted  at  this."  He  was  firm  in 
his  determination  to  do  it  quietly  in  private. 

Instead  of  this  ceremony,  therefore,  Mr.  Cranstoun 
rose  and  said — 

"  Our  friend  Dr.  Buckram  has  told  us  that  he  can't 
speak  at  a  soiree.  Now,  I  am  in  the  position  of  the 
man  who  was  asked  if  he  could  play  the  fiddle.  He 
said  he  didn't  know,  for  he  had  not  tried.  Great  laugh- 
ter.) This  is  my  first  soiree,  and  I  am  heartily  glad  to 
be  here.  I  only  came  by  accident,  but  when  you  have 
another,  and  are  at  a  loss  for  speakers,  if  you'll  give  me 
timely  warning  I'll  try  whether  I  can  make  a  speech  or 
not,  although  from  what  we  have  seen  to-night  of  native 
talent  I'll  need  to  look  to  my  laurels.  Our  eloquent 
townsman  says  that  he  doubts  none  of  us  will  ever 
write  an  epic  poem — "  (Here  the  youth  who  had  spoken 
interjected,  "  A  first-class  epic  poem,  I  said.")  "  Oh," 
said  Mr.  Cranstoun,  "  I  stand  corrected.  He  doubts 
none  of  us  will  ever  write  a  first-class  epic  poem. 
Now  I  would  not  be  too  sure  of  that— I  would  not  be  at 
all  too  sure  of  that — and  who  knows  but  the  brain  that  is 
to  tame  the  balloon  and  make  it  a  useful  beast  of  burden 
is  lying  hidden  among  us  ?  (Great  applause.)  I  can't 
sit  down  without  proposing  thanks  for  the  music  we 
have  had  to-night,  both  vocal  and  instrumental.  My 
impression  is  that  we  have  all  been  hiding  our  talents 
under  a  bushel,  and  now  that  the  Rational  Relaxation 
Society  is  going  to  give  us  candlesticks  to  set  them  on.  I 


346  QUIXSTAR. 

think  we  have  all  enjoyed  the  evening,  and  I  am  sure 
you  all  agree  with  me  that  our  best  thanks  are  also  due 
to  Mr.  Sinclair  for  giving  us  this  handsome,  comfortable 
hall." 

A  voice — 

"  Wta  wad  hae  thocht  it, 
That  noses  wad  hae  bocht  it  ?  " 

Which  venerable  piece  of  wit  fell  as  new  on  the  ears  of 
a  young  generation,  and  sent  a  great  ripple  of  laughter 
all  over  the  hall.  Miss  Raeburn  dived  her  face  into 
her  handkerchief,  and  was  vulgar  enough  to  nudge  Mr. 
Doubleday,  but  his  wits  had  not  been  sufficiently  alive 
to  catch  the  joke,  so  that  it  served  them  over  the  sup- 
per-tray afterwards,  and  Mr.  Sinclair  felt  that 

"  Fame  is  but  a  wider  charter, 

To  be  mankind's  distinguished  martyr." 

Mr.  Cranstouu  smiled  faintly,  waited  for  silence,  and 
went  on  as  if  there  had  been  no  interruption.  "  And  I 
hope  we  shall  have  many  such  happy  meetings  in  it,  and 
that  there'll  be  muckle  luck  about  the  house."  (Deaf- 
ing  applause.)  As  he  sat  down  he  whispered  to  Dr. 
Buckram,  "  That  was  a  quid  pro  quo."  The  anecdote 
was  popped  into  Dr.  Buckram's  collections.  All  his 
friends  must  have  heard  the  story  beginning,  "  When  I 
was  at  Quickstar  on  one  occasion,  my  friend  Sir  George 
Cranstoun — he  was  Mr.  Cranstoun  then — "  etc.,  etc. 

Every  one  went  away  pleased,  and  Mr.  Miller  re- 
tired a  worn-out  but  a  deeply  gratified  man.  He  had 
worked  like  a  horse  to  bring  this  affair  oif  successfully, 
and  he  had  done  it.  No  one  but  those  who  have  tried 
it  know  what  a  difficult,  anxious,  toilsome  matter  it  is  to 
get  a  public  meeting  into  right  gearing,  and  when  you 


QUIXSTAR.  347 

think  you  have  got  that  done  you  never  can  tell  when 
or  where  a  belt  may  give  way  and  cripple  the  whole 
concern.  It  only  remained  for  Mr.  Miller  to  dispatch  a 
list  of  names  to  the  Middleburgh  and  Quickstar  Obser- 
ver office — whose  own  reporter  had  been  present — of 
those  to  whom  he  wished  copies  of  that  paper  sent. 
He  did  not  forget  to  pay  Mr.  Kennedy  this  attention, 
and  once  more  that  gentleman  did  not  feel  in  a  meek, 
brotherly  frame  of  mind  towards  Mr.  Sinclair,  who  was 
both  quite  innocent  and  ignorant  in  the  matter. 


CHAPTER    LI. 

PETEK  VEITCH  called  next  forenoon  at  Old  Battle 
House.  He  had  not  as  vet  the  right  of  entrance  into 
that  august  abode,  for,  Bell  dreading  her  mother's  op- 
position, they  had  agreed  to  keep  their  secret  for  a  little. 
He  asked  for  Mr.  Sinclair,  and  was  shown  into  his  sit- 
ting-room, where  he  found  not  Mr.  Sinclair,  but  Bell. 

She  was  free  of  her  uncle's  quarters  at  any  time.  He 
had  found  out  her  value  long  ago,  and  she  his,  and  al- 
ways the  more.  There  is  great  truth  in  that  quiet  Irish- 
ism of  Wordsworth's — 

"  And  you  must  lore  him,  ere  to  yon       » 
He  will  seem  worthy  of  your  love," 

although  it  reminds  one  of  the  problem,  Did  the  hen 
originate  the  egg,  or  the  egg  the  hen  ?  But  seeing  both 
are  originated,  it  matters  the  less. 

Peter  was  completely  taken  aback  by  the  coolness 
of  her  greeting,  which  she  ended  by  saying,  "  Uncle 
won't  be  in  for  a  little  yet." 

She  was  at  her  old  trade  of  millinery,  and  her  uncle's 
table  was  littered  with  her  materials,  a  state  of  matters 
that  he  did  not  dislike ;  he  would  even,  when  desirable, 
give  his  opinion  on  a  point  of  taste.  Changed  times 
truly ! 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  you  think  this  work  I  am  at 
silly.  Uncle  used  to  think  so ;  I  daresay  he  thinks  so 
yet." 


QUIXSTAR.  349 

"  What  is  it  you  are  doing  ?  " 

"  I'm  making  a  bonnet." 

"  Isn't  that  a  thing  you  must  have  ?  I  don't  see  how 
it  can  be  silly  to  make  it." 

"  Perhaps  not  silly  to  make  it,  but  silly  to  enjoy 
making  it,  which  I  do." 

"  I  would  not  give  much  for  the  work  that  the  work- 
er had  no  enjoyment  in." 

"  Oh,  it  may  be  suitable  for  me  to  enjoy  this  kind  of 
thing,  but  it's  immensely  below  masculine  notice." 

"  I  don't  think  my  hands  would  do  it — it's  too  fine ; 
but  I  used  to  make  my  own  clothes — the  coarser  kind 
of  them — and  I  enjoy  doing 'that.  I  like  both  to  look 
at  and  to  wear  a  jacket  of  my  own  making." 

"  You  mean  to  say  that  you  learned  to  be  a  tailor  ?  " 
said  Bell,  laying  down  her  hands  and  looking  at  him. 

"  In  a  rough  way.  I  don't  suppose  I'm  an  ornament 
to  the  profession." 

"  I  would  like  to  see  you  at  it ;  I  would  remarkably 
like  to  see  you  at  it,"  and  she  laughed. 

''  Well,  if  you'll  fix  your  day  and  hour  to  call  for  me, 
I'll  fish  out  my  materials  and  let  you  have  that  pleasure." 

"  Well,  I  wouldn\  like  to  see  you  at  it." 

"  What  am  I  to  make  of  that  ?  You  are  unreason- 
able." 

"  Unreasonable — ridiculous  ! — You  enjoyed  yourself 
last  evening,  I  saw  ?  " 

"  I  did  that,"  said  he  simply.  "  It  did  one's  heart 
good  to  see  so  many  happy  faces." 

"  Yes,  that  is  always  a  pleasant  sight.  How  do  you 
like  Miss  Smith  ?  " 

"  Very  well." 

"  She  is  a  most  delightful  creature — so  much  of  the 
gushing  about  her." 


350  QUIXSTAB. 

"  The  gushing  !  what's  that  ?  That's  a  phrase  that 
must  have  come  up  in  my  absence.  One  falls  behind, 
being  so  much  at  sea." 

"  Oh,  she  laid  herself  out  to  entertain  you,  although 
she  hardly  knew  you,  and  she  succeeded." 

"  And  that's  the  '  gushing.'  Then  I  like  the  gushing 
remarkably  well." 

"  I  don't ;  I  hate  it !  If  there's  anything  I  hate  it  is 
the  gushing." 

"  A  woman  without  a  temper  wouldn't  be  worth  her 
salt ! "  exclaimed  the  sailor,  half  to  himself,  with  a  note 
of  admiration  at  the  end  of  his  sentence. 

"  You  are  miraculously  impudent,"  said  Bell,  with 
emphasis  on  the  adjective,  although  she  could  hardly 
help  laughing,  as  she  rose  from  her  seat  and  swept 
all  her  affairs  together,  and  moved  towards  the 
door. 

"  Don't  go,"  he  said;  "  don't  go.  Tell  me  how  I  have 
offended.  I  must  leave  to-day,  and  I'll  not  see  you  again 
for—" 

At  this  point  the  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Sinclair  en- 
tered, with  many  apologies  for  being  so  long  of  coming. 
Bell  resumed  her  seat  and  her  work,  on  which  she  grew 
amazingly  intent,  hardly  lifting  her  eyes ;  while  her  uncle 
and  Peter  talked.  Mr.  Sinclair  was  in  good  spirits,  and 
inclined  to  talk.  Peter  of  set  purpose  tried  to  let  the 
conversation  drag  once  or  twice  ;  he  even  pulled  out  his 
watch  and  remarked  that  it  was  about  time  for  Mr.  Sin- 
clair's walk — he  hoped  he  was  not  detaining  him  ; — all 
to  no  end.  Mr.  Sinclair  determined  to  forego  his  usual 
walk  in  deference  to  his  visitor.  You  see,  he  very  in- 
nocently thought  he  was  of  more  value  to  Peter  than 
many  nieces.  At  length  Peter  had  to  take  his  depart- 
ure As  he  shook  hands  with  Bell  he  looked  keenly  into 


QUIXSTAK.  351 

her  eyes,  but  they  said  nothing;  so,  hurt,  vexed,  and 
mystified,  he  went  away. 

He  was  not  gone  when  Bell  began  to  repent.  Surely 
he  would  come  back.  He  was  to  leave  for  Eastburgh 
early  in  the  evening,  but  he  would  have  plenty  of  time, 
and  he  would  come  back.  She  waited  and  watched  for 
him  all  the  afternoon,  but  he  did  not  come.  She  waited 
till  she  could  wait  no  longer;  if  she  did,  he  would 
be  gone;  so,  as  pride  and  folly  go  before  a  fall,  Bell 
caved  in  so  thoroughly  that  she  resolved  to  go  and  see 
him,  if  only  for  a  second.  There  was  not  much  more 
time  now.  When  she  knocked  at  the  cottage  door  it 
was  opened  by  Mrs.  Veitch. 

"  Is  your  son  in  ?  "  asked  Bell. 

"  Yes ;  he's  just  packing  up." 

"  Could  I  see  him  for  a  minute  ?  " 

"  Surely ;  come  your  ways  in,"  and  she  opened  the 
door  at  the  ben  end  of  the  small  dwelling. — "  Here,  Pe- 
ter," she  said,  "  is  Miss  Sinclair  wanting  to  see  you." 

He  was  stooping  fastening  the  straps  of  a  portman- 
teau. She  had  entered  softly  and  shut  the  door. 

"  Bell ! "  he  said. 

"  I  couldn't  rest,  Peter,  till  I  asked  you  to  forget 
my  silliness.  Will  you  ?  " 

"I  don't  understand  in  the  least,"  he  said;  "  but  I'll 
never  forget  your  kindness  in  coming  to  me — never.  I 
have  no  time  to  get  out  my  needles  and  thimbles — not  a 
moment.  It  is  hard  to  go."  He  kissed  her — "  Till  next 
time,"  he  said  ;  "  that  won't  be  long.  Don't  be  anxious. 
I  must  go.  I'll  write  the  moment  I  get  on  board.  Stay 
a  little  and  speak  to  my  mother,  will  you  ?  "  Hurrying 
into  the  kitchen,  he  bade  his  father  and  mother  good- 
bye, and  was  off. 

"  I'm  sure  it's  very  kind  o'  ye,  Miss  Sinclair,"  said 


352  QUIXSTAR. 

Mrs.  Veitch,  "  to  come  yoursel'  wi1  a  message  frae  your 
uncle."  She  had  jumped  to  this  conclusion  in  her  own 
mind.  "  Sirs,  there's  naething  but  meetings  and  part- 
ings in  this  world.  Weel,  he's  aye  come  back  safe  yet ; 
but  folk  can  be  drowned  but  ance." 

"  Weel,  weel,"  said  her  husband,  "  it  was  his  ain 
choice ;  an1  he's  gotten  weel  on,  an'  behaved  himsel'. 
Let  us  be  thankfu'." 

"  And-  a  body  grows  accustomed  to  things.  The 
first  'way-gaun  was  the  sairest.  But  be  thankfu',  Miss 
Sinclair,  that  ye're  no'  conneckit  wi'  a  sailor." 

Bell  shook  hands  very  tenderly  with  this  pair,  all 
unconscious  of  the  bond  between  them,  or  of  the  depth 
of  her  sympathy  with  them. 

At  this  same  time  there  came  to  Mr.  Doubleday  an 
important  missive,  no  less  than  his  appointment  as  clas- 
sical Professor  in  an  Australian  college.  This,  the 
grand  object  of  his  ambition,  came  with  an  alloy:  he 
must  leave  Miss  Kaeburn  and  Bell  Sinclair,  the  one,  the 
best  and  kindest  friend  he  had  ever  had,  and  the  other 
— it  would  be  difficult  to  say  what  she  had  been  to  his 
bare,  meagre,  loveless  life. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Doubleday,"  said  Miss  Raeburn,  "  I  see 
you  are  thinking  that  you  must  leave  all  your  old  friends 
for  life.  Not.  at  all,  people  think  nothing  now  of  running 
between  this  country  and  Australia ;  there's  Peter  Veitch 
goes  and  comes  every  little  while,  and  when  you  want 
a  change  you  have  only  to  step  into  his  ship,  and  he'll 
bring  you  to  my  door,  and  I  know  no  one  I'll  be  gladder 
to  see  enter  it." 

"  I  must  try  to  see  it  in  that  light;  don't  think  I  am 
ungrateful,  Miss  Raeburn.  I  am  profoundly  thankful  to 
have  got  such  an  opening." 

"  And  the  book — the  magnum  opus — you're  not  to 


QTJIXSTAR.  353 

forget  it^  it  will  be  good  work  for  you  at  sea.  I  doubt 
we'll  scarcely  be  able  to  carry  out  our  projected  novel 
meantime." 

"  Oh,  write  your  parts  of  it,  and  send  them  to  me,  and 
I'll  read  them  with  intense  interest,  and  help  you  if  I 
can." 

"  That's  very  encouraging ;  well,  we'll  see.  What 
time  are  you  expected  to  enter  on  the  duties  of  your 
professoriate  ?  " 

"  By  the  beginning  of  January,  this  letter  says." 

"  And  this  is  September.  Then  my  advice  to  you  is 
to  go  with  Peter  Veitch ;  he  sails  on  the  20th.  I  don't 
wish  to  hurry  you,  but  it  would  be  a  great  comfort  to  me 
if  you  were  with  Peter,  and  I  think  a  comfort  to  your- 
self, and  you'll  be  into  the  warm  region  and  escape  the 
cold  here  in  the  beginning  of  winter." 

"  The  20th  ?— that's  about  a  fortnight." 

"  Yes,  about  a  fortnight,  and  you'll  have  to  miss  Ef- 
fie's  wedding,  but — " 

"  I  wish  her  all  joy,  but  I  don't  want  to  be  at  her 
wedding  ;  I  would  rather  not." 

Quietly  but  actively  Miss  Raeburn  went  about  prep- 
arations for  her  guest's  departure  •  it  was  a  rapid  turn- 
up of  affairs  after  things  had  lain  so  long  dormant. 

Peter  Veitch,  meeting  Mr.  Doubleday  in  Miss  Rae- 
burn's  garden,  said,  "  So  .1  hear,  sir,  ye're  gaun  to  tak'  a 
voyage  wi'  my  son  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  glad  to  say  that  is  arranged." 

"  Weel,  he  has  a  fine  ship,  and  he's  a  cautious  laddie, 
and  he's  aye  had  gude  voyages  yet;  so  I  hope  ye'll  get 
safe  to  your  journey's  end." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,  if  care  and  skill  will  do." 

"  Ay,  there's  no  mony  better  sailors  than  Peter. 
I've  often  thought  I  would  like  to  gang  the  voyage, 


354  QUIXSTAR. 

just  to  see  into  things  a  wee ;  they  tell  me  it's  whiles 
like  a  pleasure-  trip  a'  the  road ;  but  it  wad  tak'  ower 
muckle  time  and  siller." 

"  Is  it  very  expensive  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Doubleday,  sud- 
denly struck  by  the  idea. 

.  "  Gey, — of  course  it  depends  on  how  ye  gang ;  the 
steerage  is  no'  a  very  comfortable  bit  to  folk  that's  been 
accustomed  to  peace  and  quietness." 

Mr.  Doubleday  pondered  the  subject,  and  broached 
it  to  Miss  Raeburn. 

"  You've  nothing  to  do  with  that,  Mr.  Doubleday," 
said  she.  "  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  step  on  board,  and 
step  out  again  at  the  other  side." 

"  It  is  too  much.  How  shall  I  ever  get  out  of  your 
debt?" 

"  My  dear  sir,  it  is  I  who  am  in  your  debt ;  one  way 
and  another  you  have  given  me  more  real  enjoyment 
than  any  money  could  do.  How  am  I  to  pay  you  for 
that  ?  " 

"  I  believe  it,"  he  said.  "  I  believe  it  is  a  keen  en- 
joyment to  help  the  poor  and  the  needy,  but  I  hope 
to  be  able  some  day  to  refund  at  least  the  money  you 
have  given  me." 

"  I'll  take  it  in  nuggets  then.  I've  a  great  desire  to 
clutch  gold  in  the  rough, — lumps  of  gold  to  have  and  to 
hold ;  civilized  little  sovereigns  give  one  no  sense  of  bar- 
baric riches  at  all." 


CHAPTER  LII. 

THE  relation  between  a  mother  and  a  grown-up  son 
should  be  a  very  tender  one  ;  on  the  part  of  the  mother 
it  generally  is  so,  blended  with  pride,  if  the  man  fulfils 
the  premise  of  the  boy, — with  what  is  it  blended  if  he 
does  not  ?  Mrs.  Gilbert  had  been  terribly  disappointed 
in  her  son,  not  her  pride  merely — that  would  have  been 
comparatively  a  small  matter — nor  her  heart,  but  her 
very  soul  was  wrung.  There  was  no  getting  at  him ; 
time  after  time  she  tried  it,  but  he  knew  everything  and 
agreed  with  everything.  "  Why,  mother,"  he  said,  "  you 
surely  don't  think  I  am  a  profligate,  do  you  ?  I'm  not  a 
bad  character ;  quite  the  contrary.  I  can  tell  you  if  I 
had  plenty  of  money  I  would  be  very  highly  esteemed 
among  the  children  of  men,  but  somehow  money  has  not 
caught  the  trick  yet  of  rolling  towards  me  ;  probably  it 
will  some  day." 

On  the  morning  of  the  17th,  white  they  were  at 
breakfast,  he  said  in  an  off  hand  way,  "  I  think  I'll  cross 
with  Peter." 

"  Cross — where  too  ?  "  asked  his  mother. 

"  Oh,  to  Melbourne,  en  route  to  Hongatonga ;  it  is  a 
good  season  of  the  year.  He  sails  on  the  20th ;  I  have 
three  days  yet." 

There  was  a  blank  silence ;  this  was  the  first  intima- 
tion of  his  intended  departure.  Mrs.  Gilbert  was  the 
first  to  speak. 


356  QUIXSTAE. 

"  Oh,  John,"  she  said,  "  could  you  not  find  something 
to  do,  and  settle  down  at  home  ?  " 

"  What  kind  of  thing,  mother  ?  Would  Tom  Sinclair 
take  me  into  his  bank,  think  you  ?  I  doubt  it,"  and  he 
laughed. 

"  What  will  you  do  in  Australia  ?  "  asked  his  father. 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,  I'm  going  to  test  the  quali- 
ties of  a  plant  that  grows  in  great  abundance  in  some 
places  there.  I  have  a  strong  idea  that  it  is  the  very 
thing  to  make  paper  of,  in  which  case  I  shall  clear  a  for- 
tune by  it ;  and  secondly,  to  have  two  strings  to  my 
bow,  I'll  buy  a  pair  of  sheep  and  begin  flock-master." 

"Well,"  said  his  father,  rising,  "  I'll  have  to  go,  my 
flock  will  be  waiting  for  its  master.  I  don't  suppose 
you  are  in  earnest,  John, .about  going  on  the  20th?" 

"  Quite  in  earnest.     Fve  lost  enough  of  time." 

"  You  might  have  given  us  longer  warning.  But 
what  must  be,  must  be,  I  suppose.  Oh,  man,  if  you 
could  but  content  yourself  at  home."  And  Mr.  Gilbert 
went  away  to  his  toil  Avith  a  heavy  heart,  and  trying  to 
make  himself  believe  that  his  disappointment  in  his  son 
was  less  bitter  than  it  was,  and  trying  to  put  faith  in  a 
castle  whose  foundations  were  the  paper-making  plant. 

Mrs.  Gilbert  bethought  herself  that  the  reason  for 
John's  sudden  determination  was  EfnVs  marriage ; — 
when  it  came  so  near,  he  found  he  could  not  stand  it 
after  all,  and  she  respected  him  for  that ;  that  he  should 
feel  it  so  keenly  argued  well,  and  she  spoke  softly  and 
soothingly  to  him,  and  hopefully  of  his  future.  She  and 
Mary  had  enough  to  do  getting  everything  ready  for 
him,  having  to  compress  into  two  days  the  work  that 
might  have  been  easily  accomplished  had  he  given  them 
timely  warning;  but  that  was  of  small  consequence, 
small  consequence  indeed,  compared  with  the  strangled 


QUIXSTAE.  357 

hope,  the  deadly  sinking  of  the  heart  at  the  thought  of 
her  first-born,  her  much-loved  and  only  son,  going  forth 
a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth  once  more.  The 
paper-making  plant  did  not  give  her  the  comfort  it  did 
to  his  father;  but  something  might  come  out  of  it. 

Miss  Raeburn  meant  to  see  her  friend  on  board  the 
Golden  Hind — as  Peter's  ship  was  called — herself;  but 
when  she  heard  that  John  Gilbert  was  going,  she  natur- 
ally supposed  he  would  take  Mr.  Doubleday  in  charge, 
and  that  she  might  spare  herself  the  journey.  When  she 
proposed  this  to  John,  however,  it  seemed  he  was  not 
going  direct,  or  there  was  some  impediment  which  made 
him  decline  being  Mr.  Doubleday's  escort;  so  Miss 
Raeburn  held  to  her  original  intention,  and  was  really 
glad  to  accompany  her  guest,  even  at  the  cost  of  being 
absent  from  her  nephew's  wedding.  She  kept  Mr.  Dou- 
bleday employed  one  way  and  another  up  to  the  last, 
avoiding  all  afflicting  leave-takings;  and  on  the  19th 
they  left  Quixstar  on  the  first  stage  of  his  journey  towards 
the  antipodes. 

This  day,  the  19th  of  September,  was  a  day  of  sur- 
passing loveliness;  but  no  one  at  Old  Battle  House  had 
time  to  remark  it  particularly,  except  perhaps  Mr.  Sin- 
clair, who  might  be  supposed  to  possess  his  soul  within 
him  in  unruffled  tranquillity,  notwithstanding  the  notes 
of  preparation  for  the  event  to-morrow  that  sounded  on 
every  side,  not  obtrusively,  it  is  true,  but  with  a  kind  of 
muffled  hum.  In  the  first  place,  Effie  left  the  breakfast- 
table  dissolved  in  sudden  tears,  and  Bell  followed  hur- 
riedly to  comfort  her. 

"  She  was  always  very  sensitive,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair 
to  her  brother-in-law. 

"  Poor  thing ! "  said  he ;  "I  daresay  she  feels  leaving 
us  all." 


358  QUIXSTAR. 

"  Oh,  feels  it  most  acutely ;  you  have  no  idea.  I  re- 
member when  I  was  in  similar  circumstances,"  etc.  etc. 

"  But,  Erne,"  said  Bell,  "  it's  not  as  if  you  were  going 
to  Australia  " — here  Erne  sobbed  more  deeply  than  ever 
— "  like  poor  Mr.  Doubleday.  I  was  sorry  for  him  last 
night  when  he  said  good-bye,  although  I  envy  him  the 
voyage,  but  it  will  come  to  an  end,  and  then  he  will  be 
among  strangers,  and  he  is  not  good  at  making  friends ; 
nobody  can  see  his  worth  at  a  glance." 

"  I  daresay  he'll  do  well  enough,"  said  Effie ;  and  he 
had  no  choice.  What  a  thing  it  is  to  be  distracted  be- 
tween two  courses  and  not  know  what  to  do,  and  have 
nobody  to  speak  to ! " 

"Yes,  he  has  that  advantage;  his  course  is  clear 
enough,  and  it  is  the  best  thing  he  could  do,  but  it  is  a 
kind  of  exile.  Now  you'll  be  within  two  hours  of  us  at 
any  time,  and  you'll  be  often  here,  and  we'll  be  with 
you." 

"  Oh,  Bell,  Bell !  don't  speak ;  just  let  me  alone. 
What's  the  use  of  speaking  ?  " 

"  Very  well ;  if  it  distresses  you,  I  won't  speak. 
What  will  you  do  the  time  mamma  and  I  are  in  East- 
burgh  ?  If  you  like  I  won't  go.  Mamma  could  do  all 
that's  to  be  done  herself." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Erne  eagerly ;  "  go,  by  all  means  go. 
I'll  find  plenty  to  do." 

"  But  you  are  not  to  tire  yourself  out.  Mind,  you 
are  to  look  as  fresh  as  a  daisy  to-morrow." 

It  was  commonly  thought  that  Bell  ruled  the  roast 
at  home,  the  truth  being  that  her  strong  delicate  nature 
was  a  kind  of  slave  unconsciously  to  the  weaker  natures 
of  her  mother  and  sister — not  by  any  means  an  uncom- 
mon case. 

Immediately  after  Mrs.  Sinclair  and  her  eldest  daug 


QUIXSTAR.  359 

ter  had  set  off  for  Eastburgh,  and  Mr.  Sinclair  had  gone 
for  his  daily  walk,  a  cab  drove  up  to  the  door  of  Old 
Battle  House,  and  Effie  descended  the  stairs  in  walking 
dress,  entered  it  and  went  off  to  Eastburgh,  where  she 
was  met  by  a  friend,  and  jointly  they  transacted  a  very 
important  piece  of  business ;  then  she  drove  back,  leav- 
ing the  cab  about  a  mile  from  Quixstar,  and  meeting  her 
mother  and  sister  at  the  gate  at  home. 

"  Now,"  said  Bell  when  she  saw  Effie,  "  I  told  you 
not  to  tire  yourself,  and  you  have  done  it." 

"  Have  you  walked  far,  my  dear  ?  "  asked  her  mother. 

"  Only  about  a  mile.     I  shouldn't  look  tired." 

"  It's  not  exactly  tired  you  look,"  said  Bell.  "  You 
look  a  mixture  of  things, — as  if  you  had  something  on 
your  mind." 

"  So  she  has,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair ;  "  she  never  was 
married  before." 

"  Now,  Bell,"  said  Effie,  "  for  any  sake  let  me  alone. 
I  can't  stand  much  just  now.  Oh,  be  good  to  me." 

"  Am  I  ever  anything  else,  I  wonder  ?  Why,  what 
is  the  matter?  Something  is  wrong,  surely.  Havo 
George  and  you  quarrelled,  or  what  is  it?" 

Here  Effie  broke  forth  into  tears  again. 

"  You  are  worn  out,"  Bell  said  tenderly.  "  Lie  down 
and  I'll  read  you  to  sleep.  That's  the  best  thing  for 
you." 

"  I'm  not  sleepy.  I  can't  sleep,  It's  no  use  trying. 
— Bell,  if  I  were  to  do  anything  you  or  other  people 
disapproved  of,  would  you  run  me  down  or  stand  up  for 
me  ?  " 

"  It  would  depend  on  the  kind  of  thing.  What 
wicked  thing  do  you  propose  doing  ?  " 

"  Ah,  not  wicked ;  but  people  are  apt  to  judge  so 
harshly." 


360  QUIXSTAR. 

"  Nobody  would  judge  you  harshly,  Effiekins. 
Come,  what  little  sin  are  you  looking  at  through  a 
magnify  ing-glass  ?  Get  it  off  your  mind,  and  you'll  be 
easier." 

"Oh,  it's  nothing,  nothing  at  all;  but  you'll  always 
love  me  although  we  are.  separated  ?  " 

"  What  earthly  difference  will  separation  make  ? 
Whatever  happens,  Effiekins,  we'll  never  surely  forget 
the  days  of  our  youth,  nor  this  Old  Battle  House,  where 
we  have  been  so  happy." 

Bell's  eyes  filled  with  tears  ;  her  sister  was  very  dear 
to  her,  and  to-morrow  the  joint  volume  of  their  lives 
would  close,  never  likely  to  be  opened  again  in  this 
world. 

"  It  is  strange,"  she  went  on,  "  how  many  things  are 
to  happen  to-morrow  :  your  marriage,  and  Mr.  Double- 
day  and  John  Gilbert  sailing  in  the  Golden  Hind,  with 
Peter  Veitch  for  Captain.  Why,  it  looks  like  yesterday 
when  we  were  all  at  school  together." 

"  I  wish  we  were  all  at  school  together  yet,"  said 
Effie. 

"  Oh,  we  had  our  troubles  then  too.  Do  you  remem- 
ber how  John  Gilbert  delighted  to  tease, — how  he  got 
hold  of  your  compositions  and  read  them  aloud  so  clev- 
erly ?  " 

"  I  remember — I  remember.  I  believe  he  liked  me 
even  then." 

"  Very  likely,  but  I  am  thankful  that  it  is  George 
Raeburn  you  are  going  to  marry,  not  John  Gilbert." 

Effie  turned  her  face  down  on  the  sofa  cushion  and 
said  no  more. 


CHAPTER    LIH. 

THE  20th  of  September  dawned  as  magnificent  a  day 
in  point  of  weather  as  the  preceding,  and  it  is  likely  it 
would  have  done  so  had  a  murder  been  about  to  be 
committed  in  Quixstar  instead  of  a  marriage,  for  the 
weather  does  not  go  out  of  its  way  to  sympathize  with 
our  moods.  You  maybe  in  an  agony  of  grief  or  sus- 
pense, and  the  sun  will  shine  as  brightly,  and  the  moon 
sail  as  calmly  through  a  clear  sky  as  if  you  had  neither 
feeling  nor  existence.  Great  as  the  age  is,  the  weather 
does  not  take  much  notice  of  it,  and  keenly  as  the  age 
has  set  itself  to  watch  and  note  the  weather,  it  has  not 
penetrated  very  far  into  its  secrets  yet.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  before  the  human  population  of  the  world  was  stir- 
ring, the  sun,  having  thrown  aside  a  white  veil  of  mist, 
was  smiling  on  everything  great  and  small. 

The  marriage  hour  was  fixed  for  one  o'clock,  and  the 
Raeburns — father,  mother,  and  four  sons,  besides  the 
bridegroom — were  to  arrive  shortly  before  that  hour. 
Mrs.  Raeburn  was  specially  pleased  with  the  prospect 
of  this  event,  the  first  of  its  kind  in  her  family,  and  Effie 
was  a  daughter-in-law  after  her  own  heart.  Mr.  Rae- 
burn, with  clearer  vision  than  when  the  case  was  his 
own,  thought  his  son  had  made  a  poorish  choice,  but  he 
made  no  such  remark,  and  he  was  kind  and  fatherly  to 
Effie. 

Before  leaving  Ironburgh  that  day  George  Raeburn 
16 


362  QUIXSTAR. 

went  over  the  house  he  had  prepared  for  his  wife  and 
himself,  to  see  that  nothing  was  left  undone,  and  he  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  fault 
with  it.  Effie's  taste  had  been  consulted  on  every  point, 
and  he  thought  she  might  well  be  pleased  with  the  re- 
sult. He  loved  her  tenderly,  but  he  never  for  a  mo- 
ment forgot  that  he  was  doing  her  an  honor  in  marry- 
ing her.  He  did  not  consider  her  his  equal,  and  he  had 
no  desire  that  she  should  be ;  but  she  was  very  lovable, 
pretty,  and  soft  and  feminine,  without  the  too  much 
stamina  which  he  reckoned  her  sister  had,  and  would 
have  no  will  but  his,  and  become  in  time  a  reflection  of 
himself — moonlight  to  his  sunlight;  while  he  felt  cer- 
tain that  she  was  sufficiently  intelligent  and  educated  to 
understand  and  appreciate  him. 

They  sped  towards  Quixstar.  Perhaps  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Raeburn  thought  of  that  journey  long  ago  when  they 
had  taken  home  their  dead — the  boy  whose  life  had 
been  laid  down  on  the  very  threshold ;  or  they  thought 
of  their  own  marriage  day,  a  modest  festival  that  was, 
compared  with  what  this  would  be,  and  a  start  in  the 
world  on  a  totally  different  scale.  They  sped  on  to- 
wards Quixstar.  When  they  got  to  the  station  a  car- 
riage and  Mr.  Sinclair's  dog-cart  were  in  waiting,  but 
George  preferred  to  walk, — he  had  plenty  of  time.  "  He 
wants  to  think  of  the  solemn  responsibilities  he  is  un- 
dertaking," said  one  of  his  brothers,  laughing,  as  they 
drove  off. 

Now,  while  they  were  on  this  journey,  a  very  strange 
thing  had  happened  at  Old  Battle  House.  The  bride 
had  disappeared !  She  had  gone  to  the  room  occupied 
by  her  sister  and  herself  immediately  after  breakfast, 
and  both  her  mother  and  sister  were  with  her  for  some 
time,  then  she  and  Bell  went  round  the  garden.  When 


QUIXSTAR.  363 

they  came  in  Effie  said,  "I'm  going  up-stairs.  Don't 
come  to  me  till  it  is  time  to  dress.  I  would  like  to  be 
alone.  Meantime,  good-bye,"  and  she  laid  her  arm  round 
Bell's  neck,  and  kissed  her. 

"You  don't  want  to  be  alone  the  whole  forenoon 
surely  ?  "  said  Bell. 

"  It  won't  be  long,  and  I  want  to  collect  my 
thoughts." 

"  You'll  perhaps  collect  mine  too,"  said  Bell.  "  They 
are  lying  all  about  the  room." 

"  And  tie  them  up  with  my  own  ?  I'll  try.  I  would 
like  to  do  that.  Good-bye." 

That  was  her  last  word,  and  no  one  saw  her  after. 

It  was  past  twelve  when  Bell  went  up  to  her  room. 
The  wedding-gown  was  conspicuous  lying  flung  over 
the  bed,  but  Effie  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Bell  went 
in  search  of  her,  for  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  She  went 
through  the  house  and  grounds  without  the  slightest 
misgiving,  expecting  to  find  her  every  minute.  Then 
asked  the  servants  if  any  of  them  had  seen  her.  No  one 
had  seen  her.  She  next  went  to  her  mother,  who  was 
exceedingly  annoyed  at  Erne's  thoughtlessness  and  ac- 
tual want  of  sense  in  going  anywhere  at  such  a  time. 
"  And  she'll  be  too  late,  and  have  to  dress  in  a  hurry, 
and  be  out  of  looks  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

Ten  minutes  passed,  and  Bell  went  to  her  uncle.  "  Do 
you  know,"  she  said,  "  I  can't  find  Effie  ?  " 

Mr.  Sinclair  was  reading  composedly.  You  see  he 
was  not  going  to  be  married.  He  looked  up,  and  echoed, 
"Not  find  her?" 

"  No ;  and  I'm  getting  very  anxious,  and  I  don't  like 
to  distress  mamma.  What  should  we  do  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  She'll  turn  up  in  good  time.  I  don't 
know  whether  a  bride  can  forget  her  bridegroom,  but 


364  QUIXSTAR. 

we  have  it  on  good  authority  that  she  can't  forget  her 
ornaments." 

"  Oh,  uncle,  I'm  afraid  something  must  have  happen- 
ed, or  she  never  would  stay  away  at  such  a  time  as  this." 

"Nonsense!  There  is  no  old  chest  here  for  her  to 
get  into.  Wait  till  a  quarter  to  one,  and  if  she  does  not 
appear  by  that  time  we'll  see  what  can  be  done." 

Bell  made  the  round  of  the  premises  once  more  to 
no  purpose,  then  went  up  stairs,  and  listened  intently 
for  the  footfall  of  her  sister.  She  sat  without  moving, 
staring  at  the  dressing-table,  then  she  rose,  and,  lifting 
some  little  article  on  it,  she  saw  a  letter  lying.  Hastily 
she  looked  at  it ;  it  was  addressed  to  herself — in  Effie's 
writing.  Her  very  heart  seemed  to  forget  to  beat  as 
she  ivad  it.  This  was  what  Effie  had  written: — 

"  MY  DEAREST  BELL, — I  am  just  going.  I  can't  mar- 
ry George  Raeburn,  because  John  Gilbert  and  I  went 
before  a  magistrate  yesterday,  antl  declared  and  signed 
ourselves  married  persons.  I  am  his  wife.  I  hope 
George  won't  take  it  very  much  to  heart.  I  couldn't, 
help  ..t.  We  are  going  with  the  Golden  Hind  to  Mel- 
bourne, then  to  Hongatonga.  I  am  glad  \ve  are  to  be 
with  Peter  Veitch  and  Mr.  Doubleday  too.  I  shall  keep 
a  jou.-nal  and  send  it  to  mamma  the  moment  we  land. 
I  hope  she  will  not  be  very  angry.  You  know  John  was 
my  first  love.  If  all  goes  well  we  will  not  be  long  of 
being  back  on  a  jisit.  I  am  looking  forward  to  that  al- 
ready before  I  am  gone.  Oh,  Bell,  don't  blame  me,  I 
could  not  help  it.  If  you  knew  how  distracted  I  have 
felt,  you  would  pity  me.  Stand  up  for  me  with  mamma 
and  uncle,  will  you  ? — I  am  ever  your  loving  sister 

"  EFFIE." 

Bell  was  stupefied.     If  any  one  but  her  sister  had 


QUIXSTAR.  365 

done  this  thing  she  would  have  known  how  to  charac- 
terize it,  but  the  pity  of  it — the  pity :  the  delicately  nur- 
tured Effie,  on  whom  the  wind  had  hardly  been  allowed 
to  blow,  thrown  on  a  life  of  hardship,  with  a  careless, 
selfish  man,  without  aim  or  occupation  whereby  even  to 
maintain  her. 

"  Oh,  Effie,  Effie,  Effie ! "  burst  from  Bell's  lips  in  a 
long  cry  of  tenderness.  She  stood  for  a  few  minutes 
considering.  Could  anything  be  done  ?  could  nothing  ? 

She  ran  down  stairs  to  her  uncle.  As  she  passed 
the  dining-room,  the  door  of  it  was  wide  open,  and  she 
saw  the  long  tables  glittering  with  the  wedding  feast. 
Shortly  the  guests  would  be  arriving. 

Mr.  Sinclair  was  walking  about  his  room,  proving 
that  he  was  not  quite  a  Stoic. 

"  She  is  gone ! "  Bell  said,  with  a  tone  and  feeling  as 
if  she  herself  were  the  guilty  person. 

"  Gone  !  "  said  her  uncle. 

"  Read  this !  she  was  married  yesterday  to  John  Gil- 
bert. Can  she  be  married  in  that  way  ?  Can  nothing 
be  done  to  bring  her  back?"  Bell  said  all  in  a 
breath. 

Mr.  Sinclair  read  the  note ;  then  looked  up  and  said, 
"  Jilted  !  How  do  you  mean  to  tell  George  Raeburn  ?  " 
and  his  face  reddened  as  he  spoke. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said  in  a  dry,  hollow  voice. 
"  Could  no  one  go  after  her  and  bring  her  back  ?  If  I 
were  to  start  at  once  I  might  be  in  time." 

"  You,  child !  No,  we  could  hardly  let  you  run  off 
next.  It  would  do  no  good;  she  is  married  and  of 
age,  and  the  law  thinks  her  able  to  judge  for  herself, 
although  I  don't." 

"  Oh,  uncle,  if  you  knew  how  much  I  love  her." 

Mr.  Sinclair  turned  hastily  away — not  from  displeas- 


366  QUIXSTAR. 

ure,  as  Bell  for  a  moment  thought,  but  because  he  did 
not  care  to  show  how  much  he  was  moved. 

"  And  John  Gilbert,"  Bell  went  on,  "  is  far  more'  to 
blame  than  she  is." 

"Well,  Bell,"  her  uncle  said  sadly,  (;the  thing  is 
done,  and  cannot  be  undone,  and  I  confess  my  sympa- 
thies are  with  George  Raeburn  rather  than  with  her, 
although  she  is  my  own  niece,  and  I  have  loved  her,  and 
love  her  still,  I  hope." 

"  Oh,  uncle,  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that." 

Mrs.  Sinclair  refused  to  believe  such  a  thing.  "  Ef- 
fie  eloped  with  John  Gilbert !  It  is  simply  impossi- 
ble." 

Then  when  she  read  the  fact  in  Effie's  own  writing 
she  grew  very  angry,  though  still  not  really  crediting  it. 
"  Her  first  love — hopes  I'll  not  be  angry.  Why,  she 
must  have  had  it  planned  for  weeks !  Where  in  the 
world  did  she  learn  such  a  mixture  of  impudence  and 
cunning?  Not  from  me;  all  my  doings  have  been 
above-board  since  I  left  the  cradle — as  open  as  day- 
light. Married  by  a  magistrate !  was  ever  the  like  ? 
The  Gilberts  must  have  known  it;  I  should  not  wonder 
if  Tom's  wife  did  not  aid  and  abet ;  she  was  always 
cunning,  and  would  think  it  a  good  stroke  for  her 
brother — " 

"  Oh,  mother,  I  don't  believe  any  of  the  Gilberts 
knew  more  of  it  than  we  did.  Think  of  the  hard  lot 
Effie  has  chosen  for  herself! " 

"  She  deserves  it,  affronting  us  all  in  this  way  !  A 
highly  respectable  man  of  wealth"  and  position  like 
George  Raeburn  !  How  are  we  to  look  ?  what  are  we 
to  say  ?  or  what  are  we  to  do  ?  I  never  heard  of  any- 
thing like  it !  never !  " 

"  I  would  send  at  once  for  Tom,  mamma ;  he  and 


QUIXSTAK.  367 

Jane  could  break  it  to  George.  How  grieved  I  am  for 
George  ! " 

Up  to  this  moment  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  spoken  as  if 
Erne  might  come  in  at  any  moment — she  had  not  real- 
ized the  fact.  When  she  did  begin  to  take  it  in,  her 
anger  melted  in  tears,  and  Bell  had  to  apply  herself  to 
comforting  her  mother,  who  refused  to  be  comforted. 

By  this  time  the  Raeburns  had  arrived,  all  but 
George,  and  were  in  their  respective  rooms  dressing  for 
the  occasion.  Jane  and  T^om  and  Mary  were  in  the 
drawing-room,  having  come  all  ready  in  bridal  array. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gilbert  had  been  asked,  but  excused  them- 
selves: it  would  have  been  too  painful  for  Mrs.  Gilbert, 
and  Mr.  Gilbert  had  discovered  some  flaw  or  shortcom- 
ing in  the  respect  that  had  been  shown  him  in  the  cir- 
cumstances. Miss  Raeburn  was  of  course  absent;  but 
several  of  the  Smiths  and  other  people  of  the  neighbor- 
hood were  coming,  and  would  soon  arrive. 

Mr.  Sinclair  walked  up  and  down  his  sitting-room. 
Bell  was  his  favorite,  but  he  had  never  thought  Effie 
capable  of  an  act  like  this.  Pity  for  her  sister  swal- 
lowed up  other  considerations  with  Bell ;  and  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair's grief  was  mixed  up  with  the  question  that  always 
bulked  largely  with  her,  What  will  people  say  ?— where- 
as it  was  the  grievous  moral  obliquity  of  the  thing  that 
Mr.  Sinclair  felt.  Why,  it  looked  to  him  as  if  Eflie  had 
neither  conscience  nor  heart.  You  see  Mr.  Sinclair's 
opinions  and  habits  of  thinking  had  been  pretty  well 
fixed  before  the  tender  period  came  in.  He  was  apt  to 
think  a  spade  a  spade.  Eftie's  youth,  inexperience,  and 
impulsive  nature,  worked  on  by  John  Gilbert's  fluent 
tongue  and  good  looks,  did  not  plead  for  her  with  him. 
He  was  sure  she  had  committed  a  great  sin ;  but  he  did 
not  expect  she  would  feel  the  consequences  of  her  act; 


3G8  QUIXSTAR. 

if  John  had  worldly  success,  as  very  likely  he  might 
have,  she  would  never  feel  them  at  all.  The  people 
who  do  reckless,  foolish,  sinful  things  are  not  the  people 
who  feel  the  consequences  -  most  deeply ;  those  who 
would  feel  the  consequences  most  don't  do  such  things. 
So  thought  Mr.  Sinclair ;  and  as  for  what  people  would 
say,  he  did  not  concern  himself.  Unquestionably  they 
would  say  plenty,  and  not  of  the  pleasantest ;  but  com- 
paratively few  persons  come  and  make  excessively  disa- 
greeable remarks  right  to  your  face,  although  no  doubt 
there  is  here  and  there  a  person  with  a  diabolical  taste 
of  that  kind. 

Mrs.  Sinclair  went  to  speak  to  her  son.  When  she 
was  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  the  house-door  opened  and 
George  Raebm-n  entered.  Seeing  her,  he  went  forward 
to  speak.  Involuntarily  she  put  up  both  hands  and 
waived  him  off,  then  turned  and  ran  up  the  stairs.  For 
once  in  her  life  heart  and  utterance  had  failed  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair. She  sank  on  a  chair  in  her  daughter's  room,  and 
sobbed — 

"  He'll  think  I'm  mad,  and  I  am  not  far  from  it ;  but 
I  could  not  face  him — I  could  not  do  it ! " 

Her  feelings  were  effectually  reached  and  stirred  and 
wounded.  Erne  had  been  her.  darling,  her  sensitive  dar- 
ling, since  infancy,  and  behold  ! 

George  stood  in  surprise  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
He  looked  up  and  met  Bell's  eyes.  Uncertain  what  to 
do,  she  had  come  out  of  her  room,  and  was  looking 
over  the  balusters. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  your  mother  ?  "  he  asked. 

Bell  beckoned  him  to  come  up. 

"  Where's  Erne  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  can  see  her  for  a 
minute  ?  What  ailed  your  mother  just  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  George—" 


QUIXSTAR.  369 

"  Is  Effie  ill  ?  or  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Mamma  couldn't  tell  you,  and  I  don't  know  how  I 
can.  Read  that,"  and  she  put  Effie's  note  into  his  hand. 

His  face  had  grown  very  white,  but  as  he  read,  a  scowl 
gathered  on  it  which  made  it  actually  black.  Bell  had 
read  of  faces  being  so  transfoi'med,  but  she  had  not  be- 
lieved in  it  till  she  saw  George  Raeburn's  at  that  mo- 
ment. 

He  looked  up—"  Is  that  true  ?  " 

"  If  I  could  have  spared  you  in  any  way — "  she  began. 

He  flung  the  paper  on  the  carpet,  turned  and  went 
down  the  stairs  without  uttering  a  word.  By  accident 
possibly  he  opened  the  drawing-room  door,  where  Jane, 
Mary,  and  Tom  were.  Tom  had  seen  his  uncle,  and 
was  just  telling  the  extraordinary  news.  There  was  a 
sudden  hush  when  George  went  in.  Tears  were  stand- 
ing in  Mary's  eyes. 

"  You  have  heard  the  news  ?  "  he  said  with  bitter  lev- 
ity. "  But  why  shouldn't  we  have  a  wedding,  Mary  ?  " 
and  he  seized  her  hand  almost  roughly.  "  You'll 
be  the  bride.  One  man  is  as  good  as  another,  it  seems, 
and  one  woman  will  be  as  good  as  another,  I  fancy," 
and  he  laughed  such  a  laugh  as  was  not  good  to  hear. 

"  Oh,  George,"  said  Mary,  "  I — my  sympathy — " 

"  Confound  your  sympathy  !  "  he  said  sternly,  fling- 
ing away  her  hand  as  roughly  as  he  had  taken  it,  and  he 
immediately  left  the  room  and  the  house,  nor  did  he 
return.  If  Mary  had  not  been  of  a  gentle  nature,  she 
would  have  resented  this  as  an  insult  and  unmanly, 
which  it  was ;  but  she  excused  him  out  of  pity,  and 
that  it  should  have  been  her  brother  that  had  robbed 
him-  made  her  all  the  more  lenient,  for  she  had  a  feeling 
of  guilt  in  the  matter,  which  she  would  not  have  had  in 
any  other  case. 
16* 


370  QUIXSTAR. 

Tom  took  on  him  the  disagreeable  but  necessary 
duty  of  dispersing  the  wedding  guests,  and  they  retired 
making  all  the  different  comments  on  the  affair,  which 
will  be  easily  imagined. 

When  the  Sinclairs  and  the  Raeburns  sat  down  alone 
to  dinner  on  this  day — for  whatever  may  pass  from  our 
lives  that  event  must  go  on  so  long  as  we  have  mouths, 
and  food  to  put  in  them — it  seemed  more  as  if  a  funeral 
had  gone  out  of  the  house  than  anything  else,  indeed  a 
party  after  a  funeral  has  often  been  a  much  more  lively 
affair.  To  use  the  word  "  awkwardness  "  in  connection 
with  it,  is  feeble  in  the  extreme — it  was  awkward  cer- 
tainly, with  the  addition  that  every  person  present  was 
feeling  hurt  and  mortified  to  a  degree ;  it  was  a  party 
that  did  not  linger  over  the  good  things  of  this  life ;  it 
broke  up  at  the  earliest  possible  moment — every  one 
glad  to  go. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

ABOUT  the  very  time  that  this  strange  dinner-party 
at  Old  Battle  House  was  breaking  up,  to  the  relief  of 
all  the  company,  suffering  under  such  a  variety  of 
grieved,  angry,  mortified  feeling,  Miss  Raeburn  and  Mr. 
Doubleday  went  on  board  the  Golden  Hind,  and  were 
received  by  Captain  Veitch,  who  had  been  on  the  look- 
out for  them.  They  stayed  on  deck  watching  the  scene 
— men,  women,  and  children,  and  every  kind  of  thing 
coming  on  board. 

"  I  suppose  this  bustle  is  not  confusion  to  you,"  Miss 
Raeburn  said  to  Captain  Veitch ;  "  there  is  method  in 
it,  is  there  not  ?  " 

"  It  does  not  look  very  methodical,"  he  said,  "  but 
by  the  time  we  are  at  sea  for  a  day  or  two  everything 
will  go  like  clockwork." 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  the  voyage  with  you,"  she  said: 

"  Why  not  ?  you  might." 

"  Hardly  this  time,  but  when  Mr.  Doubleday  gets 
well  settled  I  may  be  tempted  to  pay  him  a  visit." 

"  By  the  by,"  said  the  captain,  "  who  has  John  Gil- 
bert married  V  It  must  have  been  a  sudden  thing ; 
there  was  no  word  of  it  when  I  left  Quixstar." 

'•  Married  !  nonsense;  I  never  heard  of  it,"  said  Miss 
Raeburn. 

"  That  is  curious,  and  it  has  not  been  mentioned 
in  any  letter  I  have  had  from  Quixstar,  nevertheless 
I  have  it  on  excellent  authority;  I  had  a  letter  from 


372  QTJIXSTAK. 

him  yesterday  asking  me  to  secure  accommodation  in 
this  ship  for  himself  and  his  wife — see,  there  it  is,"  and 
he  handed  it  to  Miss  Raeburn. 

"  That  is  most  extraordinary,"  said  she ;  "  his  own 
mother  did  not  know  till  the  17th  that  he  was  going 
with  you  at  all." 

"  Well,  that's  all  I  know  about  it,"  said  Peter. 

"  Probably,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday,  "  it  is  a  joke ;  he  is 
a  young  man  who  is  fond  of  jokes." 

"I  believe  that  must  be  the  explanation,"  said  Miss 
Raeburn  ;  "  how  smart  of  you  to  think  of  it,  Mr.  Dou- 
bleday !  " 

"  If  it's  a  joke,  it's  a  "poor  one,"  said  Peter ;  "  but 
we'll  not  have  long  to  wait  for  full  enlightenment." 

"  I  don't  understand  it,"  said  Miss  Raeburn,  "  but  I 
am  curious  to  see  the  ocean  bride,  if  she's  not  a  phan- 
tom," and  she  thought  to  herself,  "  It  can't  be  Effie,  that 
at  least  is  an  impossibility." 

She  had  hardly  thought  this  when  looking  up.  be- 
hold !  there  advanced  towards  her  John  Gilbert  with  a 
little  cloaked  figure  clinging  to  his  arm,  seen  at  a  glance 
to  be  Effie. 

"  Miss  Raeburn,"  he  said  gayly,  "  I  am  glad  to  see 
you  here.  Allow  me  to  present  my  wife.  She's  ower 
the  border  and  awa'  wi'  Jock  o'  Hongatonga,  you  see." 

Mr.  Doubleday  and  Peter  Veitch  were  struck  dumb 
with  surprise. 

Miss  Raeburn  did  not  speak,  she  only  looked  at 
them.  Suddenly  Effie  put  her  arm  round  her  neck  and 
said,  "  Oh,  Miss  Raeburn,  I  am  glad  you  are  here ! 
What  a  time  it  has  been  !  " 

Miss  Raeburn  disengaged  herself  coolly.  "  Really," 
she  said,  "  you  can  hardly  expect  me  to  congratulate 
you." 


QUIXSTAR.  373 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  John,  "  we  are  not  conscious  of 
having  done  anything  wrong." 

"  Then  I  pity  you." 

"  I  appeal  to  your  sense  of  justice,"  said  he ;  "  she 
was  mine  first,  and  she's  mine  last,  and  it's  all  right." 

"  Oh  take  me  somewhere,  Miss  Raeburn,"  besought 
Effie,  and  they  went  below,  where  Effie  sank  on  a  sofa. 
"  Oh,  Miss  Raeburn,  it  looks  wrong  to  other  people,  I 
know,  but  I  could  not  help  it,"  she  said,  "  and  don't, 
please,  be  hard  on  us." 

"  How  would  you  have  liked  if  George  had  married 
another  woman  at  the  last  moment  and  left  you  to 
make  the  best  of  it  ?  and  George  is  a  very  proud  man ; 
he'll  feel  it  horribly." 

"  I  hope  not.     Oh,  I  hope  not,"  sobbed  Effie. 

"  You  may  hope  as  you  like,  but  that  does  not  alter 
the  thing.  What  kind  of  day  do  you  suppose  they'll 
have  had  at  Old  Battle  House  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  can't  believe  it  was  only  this 
morning  I  left  it ;  it  seems  like  an  age." 

"  Poor  thing,"  thought  Miss  Raeburn,  "  it  will  be  a 
longer  age  before  you  get  back  to  it  again,  which  is 
likely  to  be  your  ultimate  fate." 

Miss  Raeburn  knew  that  Effie  had  done  a  wicked 
and  a  very  foolish  thing,  yet  in  the  bottom  of  heart  she 
had  some  sympathy  with  her.  No  doubt  John  was  very 
fascinating,  and  Miss  Raeburn  liked  to  see  a  girl  marry 
for  love  rather  than  for  comfort,  if  only  Effie  had  not 
played  such  a  wretchedly  double  part — that  was  the 
black  feature  of  it  which  she  could  not  get  over,  but  of 
course  John  was  by  far  the  wickeder  of  the  two,  for  he 
knew  what  he  was  doing,  which  Effie  hardly  did.  Miss 
Raeburn  stayed  with  her  as  long  as  she  could,  and  still 
Effie  cried,  "  Oh  stay !  don't  go." 


374  QUIXSTAR. 

"  My  child,  I  must  go.  I  can't  go  to  Australia  with 
you." 

"  Oh  if  you  could !  but  I  suppose  not,"  she  said  sadly. 

"  Then  what  message  have  you  to  send  home  ?  " 

"  Just  that  I  love  them — nothing  more ;  and  tell 
Mrs.  Gilbert  that  I'll  be  as  good  a  wife  to  her  son  as  I 
can." 

"  Poor  child,"  said  Miss  Raeburn,  kissing  her,  "  if  I 
could  make  your  path  smooth  I  would  do  it." 

Effie  hid  her  face  in  the  sofa  pillow  as  Miss  Raeburn 
left  the  cabin. 

It  was  a  harder  trial  for  Miss  Raeburn  to  take  leave 
of  Mr.  Doubleday.  However  Effie  had  acted,  she  had 
youth  and  health  and  hope,  and  the  husband  of  her 
choice  (such  as  he  was)  by  her  side,  but  Mr.  Doubleday 
was  lonely  and  desolate,  with  uncertain  health,  and  to 
such  her  heart  went  out  naturally.  She  always  felt  that 
the  prosperous  have  plenty  of  friends,  which  cannot  be 
said  of  those  in  adversity,  and,  as  old  Peter  Veitch 
sometimes  said,  "  It's  no'  easy  for  folk  when  the  wind 
aye  blaws  in  their  face,"  which  hitherto  had  been  Mr. 
Doubleday's  lot.  But  first  she  spoke  to  John  Gil- 
bert. 

"  Be  good  to  that  child,  John,"  she  said,  "  now  that 
you  have  got  her ;  she  has  given  up  much  for  you,  and 
you  must  learn  to  settle  down  into  dull  respectability 
for  her  sake." 

" No  fear,"  said  he ;  "I  have  always  been  respecta- 
ble, though  not  dull,  and  I'll  love  my  wife  as  I  love  my- 
self, and  better  rather;  you  can  tell  George  Raeburn 
that  if  you  like." 

"  I  think  it  would  become  you  not  to  speak  of 
George  Raeburn  after  the  wrong  you  have  done  him." 

"  I  have  done  him  no  wrong.     She  was  mine  before 


QUIXSTAE.  375 

she  was  his.  She  never  was  his — never.  He  thought 
it,  though." 

"  On  what  seemed  to  be  very  sufficient  grounds,  but 
it  is  no  use  speaking  of  it  now." 

"  None  whatever.  Well,  I'll  take  what  care  I  can 
of  Mr.  Doubleday.  I  declare,  when  I  caught  sight  of 
you  and  him  standing  together  on  the  deck  so  couth- 
ily,  I  thought  you  had  just  got  the  start  of  Effie  and 
me." 

"I  don't  doubt  you  did,  John  Gilbert,"  said  she 
laughing.  "  You  have  impudence  enough  for  any  one 
thing  under  the  sun,  but  I  shall  feel  personally  obliged 
by  any  attention  you  show  Mr.  Doubleday.  I  hope  his 
health  will  go  on  improving,  and  that  he'll  be  able  to 
look  after  himself." 

She  bade  Mr.  Doubleday  good-bye  in  a  short  time, 
and  in  a  few  airy,  cheerful  words,  the  last  of  which  were, 
"  No  idleness,  Mr.  Doubleday.  Mind  the  magnum  opus. 
I  and  the  world  are  waiting  for  it." 

It  was  on  leaving  him  she  found  how  much  his  good- 
ness and  simple  trust  had  gained  on  her.  As  she  drove 
away  she  shed  tears.  If  Mr.  Doubleday  could  have  known 
this  he  would  have  wondered.  He  himself  reminded 
you  of  a  dumb  animal  in  suffering.  You  saw  the  evi- 
dence of  it,  but  there  were  no  tears,  and  no  voice.  Of 
course,  one  knew  quite  well  that  Mr.  Doubleday  had 
eternity  to  be  happy  in,  but  this  present  life  is  all  we 
have  meantime,  and  oh,  there  are  so  many  people  to 
whom  one  could  wish  a  little  happiness  here  and  now ! 

When  the  pilot  went  ashore  he  carried  a  tremendous 
array  of  letters  with  him.  The  Golden  Hind  was  a 
floating  village  in  herself,  in  which  every  class  and  in- 
terest was  represented,  except  indeed  the  clergy — there 
was  no  clergyman  on  board — and  these  were  sending 


376  QUIXSTAK. 

their  last  words  to  the  big  world  from  which  they  were 
shut  off  for  a  time. 

Letters  were  scattered  all  over  Britain  that  week 
dated  from  on  board  the  Golden  Hind,  many  of  them 
no  doubt  to  be  read  through  a  mist  of  tears.  Quixstar 
was  not  neglected.  There  was  a  thick  budget  addressed 
to  Miss  Sinclair,  and  another  to  Peter  Veitch  and  his 
wife,  by  Captain  Veitch.  How  he  found  time  to  write 
so  much,  and  what  he  wrote,  is  a  mystery.  Mr.  Dou- 
bleday  wrote  to  Miss  Raeburn,  his  single  correspondent. 
He  seemed  to  find  it  difficult  to  express  himself;  he 
sighed  occasionally.  John  Gilbert  was  writing  at  a  ta- 

O  v 

ble  near  him,  and  he  cried,  ;'  I  say,  Doubleday,  what  are 
you  pechin'  at  ?  Are  you  writing  to  yonr  sweetheart  ?  " 

"  No,"  stammered  Mr.  Doubleday ;  "  I  am  writing  to 
Miss  Raeburn." 

"  One  would  think  you  might  write  to  her  without 
groaning  like  an  engine  in  want  of  oil." 

"  You  are  blessed  with  a  lively  imagination,  Mr.  Gil- 
bert." 

"  I  don't  know  if  that's  'a  blessing." 

Here  Effie  came  to  them,  and  said,  "  I'm  done.  I've 
written  two  long  letters — one  to  mamma,  and  one  to  Bell. 
I  have  given  Bell  your  love,  Mr.  Doubleday,  without 
consulting  you — was  I  right  ?  "  She  did  not  wait  for  an 
answer  to  this  question,  which  tugged  at  the  poor  man's 
very  heart-strings,  but  went  on :  "  And  here  is  a  little 
note,  John,  to  put  in  your  letter  to  your  mother." 

"  Ah,  that's  right,"  said  John.  "  I  did  not  think  of 
that." 

The  consolation  these  letters  could  give  to  Mrs.  Gil- 
bert was  not  great,  for,  though  John  was  her  son,  she 
took  the  same  view  of  him  as  Mr.  Sinclair  did  with  re- 
gard to  his  niece.  He  had  done  a  base,  dishonorable 


QUIXSTAR.  377 

thing,  and  Effie's  note,  kind  and  gushing  as  it  was,  what 
weight  did  it  carry  in  the  face  of  the  deliberate  decep- 
tion she  had  practised  towards  George  Raebnrn  to  the 
very  last  moment  ? — a  treachery  for  which  there  was  not 
the  shadow  of  an  excuse.  If  the  thing  had  been  delib- 
erately planned  (which,  to  do  the  pair  justice,  it  was 
not)  so  as  most  deeply  to  wound  every  one  concerned, 
it  could  not  have  been  done  more  effectually.  But  in 
time  Mrs.  Gilbert  read  and  re-read  these  letters,  and 
with  the  ingenuity  of  love  set  herself  to  make  the  best 
of  them.  After  all,  they  were  young,  and  there  was  a 
new  element  of  hope  in  the  fact  that  John  was  not  at 
least  a  solitary  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  but 
they  did  not  speak  much  of  him  in  the  schoolmaster's 
house.  Somehow  the  follies  and  sins  of  those  who  are 
dear  to  us  as  our  own  souls  are  not  things  to  be  talked 
about.  And  Effie's  marriage,  which  in  the  form  first 
proposed  would  have  drawn  the  Ironburgh  and  Quix- 
star  connections  closer  together,  as  it  turned  out  made 
a  greater  dryness  among  them.  The  Raeburns,  the  Gil- 
berts, and  the  Sinclairs  did  not  see  much  more  of  each 
other  than  was  necessary.  George  Raeburn  lived  in  his 
fine  house  alone.  He  never  referred  to  his  memorable 
wedding-day,  and  no  one  dared  ever  to  speak  of  it  to 
him,  not  even  his  mother.  He  buried  himself  in  his 
business,  his  very  soul  bidding  fair  to  harden  and  wither 
in  the  process  of  making  money. 

Miss  Raebura  kept  Mr.  Doubleday's  letter,  the  third 
she  had  had  from  him  since  she  had  known  him.  Not 
that  it  was  brilliant  by  any  means.  There  Avas  no  glit- 
ter about  him,  and  no  conscious  fun,  and  he  did  not  set 
himself  to  write  a  letter;  he  merely  tumbled  out  his 
feelings  on  paper,  and  that  was  better  than  style,  or 
sparkle,  or  little  tricks  of  manufacture.  It  was  natural- 


378  QUIXSTAR. 

ness  and  honesty  and  simplicity  that  were  their  charm, 
qualities  which  Miss  Raeburn  hoped  to  see  in  the  mag- 
num opus  in  large  measure.  She  shared  the  pleasure  of 
reading  it  with  Bell  Sinclair,  though  Bell  did  not  recip- 
rocate by  sharing  her  packet  from  the  Golden  Hind, 
which  indeed  you  could  hardly  expect  her  to  do.  But 
Miss  Raeburn  was  good-natured,  and  gave  Bell  every 
pai'ticular  concerning  that  interesting  ship,  its  appear- 
ance, accommodation,  passengers,  confusion,  cargo,  etc., 
etc.,  which  a  quick-witted  person  could  gather  during 
the  short  time  she  had  been  on  board — told  her  of  Erne 
and  John,  and  Mr.  Doubleday  and  Sir  Francis  (so  she 
called  the  captain :  the  ship  being  the  Golden  Hind,  the 
commander  must  needs  be  Sir  Francis  Drake,  which 
you  will  allow  is  a  name  that  looks  a  vast  deal  more  ele- 
gant in  a  novel,  or  even  in  real  life,  than  Peter) — how 
they  looked,  and  what  they  said  up  to  the  moment  she 
left  them,  winding  up  with,  "  And,  my  dear  Tibby,  I  re- 
ally can't  speak  too  highly  of  Sir  Francis.  I  think  with 
him  and  her  two  other  knights  Erne  is  pretty  safe,  and 
much  better  off  than  she  deserves." 


CHAPTER  LY. 

EFFIE  was  not  very  well  off  at  that  moment.  She 
was  lying  prostrate  with  sea-sickness,  as  were  most  of 
the  passengers  on  board  the  Golden  Hind.  That  gal- 
lant ship  had  had  something  to  do  holding  her  own 
against  the  Atlantic  billows.  During  the  first  part  of 
her  voyage  it  blew  a  perfect  hurricane  from  the  south-east, 
threatening  to  drive  her  back  on  the  coast  of  Spain. 

Poor  little  Effie !  If  she  could  have  realized  this  state 
of  matters  beforehand  it  is  to  be  feared  John  Gilbert 
would  hardly  have  carried  the  day.  Her  heroism  was 
not  of  a  high-pitched  tone.  Her  thoughts  would  wander 
to  that  pretty  drawing-room  in  Ironburgh,  every  article 
in  which  she  had  chosen  with  own  eyes,  and  she  could 
have  wished  herself  sitting  quietly  there  instead  of  toss- 
ing madly  on  the  Atlantic.  John,  who  was  proof  against 
sea-sickness,  devoted  himself  to  her  service,  only  leaving 
her  occasionally  to  pay  some  little  attention  to  Mr. 
Doubleday,  who  was  lying  groaning,  and  dead  sick  in 
his  berth.  He  shared  his  cabin  with  a  gentleman  who 
recognized  him  and  asked  when  he  had  left  Quixstar. 
"  Eight  or  nine  years  ago,"  said  this  gentleman,  "  I  was 
three  weeks  in  Quixstar,  and  I  thought  it  the  dreariest 
little  hole  in  Christendom.  If  you  are  partial  to  it, 
excuse  me." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday.  "  I  have  no  re- 
membrance of  you." 


380  QUIXSTAR. 

"  No,  you  can't.  I  saw  you,  but  likely  you  never  saw 
me.  You  were  tutor  at  Old  Battle  House  ?  So  a  man 
called  Peter  Veitch  told  me.  I  painted  Peter's  house 
and  cow,  and  got  fifteen  guineas  for  the  picture.  It  is 
in  New  Zealand  now,  in  Otago — a  souvenir  of  the  old 
country.  Well,  it's  queer  where  people  meet." 

"  That  would  be  interesting  to  our  captain ;  he  is  the 
son  of  Peter  Veitch." 

"  Ay,  indeed  !  He  was  a  shrewd  canny  Scot,  Peter. 
— Heigh-ho  !  nine  years  is  a  great  dig  out  of  a  man's  life. 
— What's  taking  you  to  the  other  side  of  the  globe  ?  " 

"  I  have  got  an  appointment  as  classical  teacher  in  a 
college." 

"  And  I  have  got  an  appointment  on  the  staff  of  a 
newspaper;  and  I'm  to  be  '  own  correspondent '  to  a 
London  paper.  You  and  I  may  do  each  other  good, 
who  knows  ?  " 

The  Golden  Hind  stood  nobly  the  heavy  strain  on 
her  timbers  caused  by  the  tremendous  dash  of  waves  on 
her  weather  bows,  as  she  was  kept  closely  hauled  to  the 
wind.  As  soon  as  Mr.  Doubleday  was  able  he  made  his 
way  to  the  deck,  although  he  often  found  it  a  difficult 
matter  to  keep  his  feet  there,  feeling  like  a  small  helpless 
feather  amid  the  roar  of  winds  and  waves.  But  he  liked 
to  see  the  operation  of  putting  about  the  ship  when  she 
was  to  go  on  another  tack;  and  he  was  lost  in  admiration 
at  the  coolness  and  presence  of  mind  the  captain  showed 
while  giving  the  necessary  orders.  For  many  days  the 
ship  ran  on  a  taut  bowline,  till  at  last  she  got  under  the 
influence  of  the  north-east  trade  winds,  which  bore  her 
quietly  into  the  region  of  the  tropics. 

If  all  the  people  in  a  village  know  each  other  well,  it 
may  be  supposed  that  two  hundred  and  ninety-seven  shut 
into  a  ship  with  no  imperative  occupation,  no  letters,  no 


QUIXSTAR.  381 

newspapers,  no  rides,  no  drives,  nor  even  walks,  except 
within  very  circumscribed  limits,  will  prey  pretty  fully 
upon  the  history,  events  and  circumstances  of  each 
other's  lives.  Of  old,  ordinary  people  rarely  thought  of 
going  a  voyage  of  fifteen  thousand  miles — at  least  it  was 
the  exception,  not  the  rule.  In  these  latter  days  ordi- 
nary commonplace  people  contribute  their  full  quota  to 
every  ship's  company,  and  there  was  plenty  such  on  board 
the  Golden  Hind.  But  there  were  some  outstanding  in- 
dividuals. Erne  and  John,  for  instance,  were  objects  of 
great  interest,  because  of  their  romantic  marriage. 
Youth,  good  looks,  and  a  runaway  match  will  be  inter- 
esting in  all  time ;  and  they  sat  so  well  on  this  pair  that 
they  "  took  place  when  Virtue's  steely  bones  looked 
bleak  in  the  cold  wind,"  which  in  a  wicked  world  Virtue's 
bone's  have  a  trick  of  doing.  Neither  was  Mr.  Double- 
day  what  could  be  called  commonplace.  What  was  he 
about?  In  lack  of  .-external  resources  (on  which,  how- 
ever, happily  for  himself,  he  had  never  been  very 
dependent)  was  the  magnum  opus  progressing  ?  Was 
he  drinking  in  inspiration  from  the  mighty  forces  of 
nature  round  him  ?  There  were  an  accomplished  actor 
and  actress,  Fortescue  by  name,  on  their  way  to  reap  a 
golden  harvest  in  Kangaroo-land  ;  there  were  two  young 
xctrttns  sent  out  by  some  society  to  undertake  an  explor- 
ing expedition ;  there  was  the  "  own  correspondent," 
Mr.  Spenser;  there  was  also  a  plain  man  of  quiet  man- 
ners and  very  colonial  look ;  he  would  have  passed 
muster  at  once  among  the  ordinary  people,  but — such  a 
but !  It  was  told,  and  told  with  truth,  that  he  had  gone 
out  from  Ayrshire  a  raw  lad,  and  had  now  an  income  of 
£30,000  per  annum  !  Think  of  it  and  say  if  the  Golden 
Hind  did  not  deserve  her  name  this  voyage  at  least. 
"  Thirty  thousand  per  an. !  "  said  John  Gilbert  to  his 


382  QUIXSTAR. 

wife,  as  they  were  sitting  on  the  deck  with  Mr.  Double- 
day  ;  "  I  wonder  the  man  is  not  ashamed  of  having  so 
much  money !  Does  he  not  see  the  injustice  of  it  ? 
Now,  if  he  would  give  us  just  one  year's  income — I 
wouldn't  ask  more — we'd  go  back  to  Quixstar  and  set 
up  as  gentlefolks  for  life." 

"  It  would  be  remarkably  nice,"  said  Effie,  "  but  I 
doubt  he  won't  think  of  it.  Why,  life  must  be  like 
a  fairy  tale  to  him ;  he  has  only  to  wish  for  a  thing  and 
get  it." 

"  I  don't  envy  him,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday ;  "  it  would 
be  a  burden  to  me." 

"  Ah,  but  you  like  to  live  the  life  of  a  mole,"  said 
Effie.  "  I  could  spend  £2500  a  month  quite  well." 

"You  could  spend  it:  whether  you  could  do  it 
well  or  not  is  a  different  thing." 

But  this  modern  instance  of  success  was  mightily 
encouraging  to  all  those  on  their  way  to  push  their 
fortunes.  They  buoyantly  overlooked  the  fact  that  for 
one  great  prize  Fortune  carries  in  her  bag,  she  has 
innumerable  blanks.  And  it  was  well  they  did  so : 
hope  will  carry  people  through  much,  and  melancholy 
never  yet  made  a  man  fitter  for  his  work.  It  was  a 
curious  pause  this  voyage  to  most  of  these  voyagers. 
They  had  let  go  the  business  and  toil  of  life  on  the  one 
shore,  and  had  not  got  hold  of  them  on  the  other. 
Some  could  make  good  use  of  this  parenthesis;  but 
most  began  to  weary  of  what  they  thought  monotony 
and  want  of  excitement.  Want  of  excitement !  if  they 
had  only  known  it,  excitement  was  slowly  and  surely 
preparing  for  them — terror  and  awful  excitement. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

OF  all  dangers  fire  is  what  a  sailor  dreads  most;  and 
when  early  one  morning  it  ran  through  the  ship  that 
there  was  fire  in  the  hold,  every  pulse  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  every  cheek  grew  white,  and  men  looked  in 
each  other's  faces  in  silent  horror.  Some  blindly  re- 
fused to  credit  it — how  could  it  be  ?  the  utmost  vigilance 
had  been  used  to  guard  against  this  danger.  In  the  hold 
— how  could  it  originate  .there?  It  was  no  mistake, 
however;  the  captain  and  the  crew  had  been  hard  at 
work  most  of  the  night  doing  all  that  could  be  done  to 
conquer  the  tremendous  enemy. 

Every  one  had  rushed  to  the  deck,  and  as  they  were 
standing  discussing  the  startling  news  with  all  the  eager- 
ness and  earnestness  of  a  matter  of  life  and  death, 
Captain  Veitch  waved  his  hand  for  attention,  and  said — 

"  I  depend  on  every  man  in  the  ship  to  support  my 
authority  and  keep  perfect  order — that's  the  first  thing 
towards  our  safety.  It  is  possible,  and  most  likely,  that 
we  may  get  the  fire  under,  and  there  is  no  immediate 
danger.  We  shall  make  for  the  coast  of  America,  and 
we  may  be  pretty  near  it  before — in  case  of  the  worst, 
which  I  see  no  reason  to  dread  yet — it  is  absolutely 
necessary  to  take  to  the  boats.  The  boats  will  carry  us 
all,  and  I'll  see  every  one  out  of  the  ship  before  I  leave 
her.  We  have  another  chance ;  a  vessel  may  cross  our 
path.  We  shall  be  inconvenienced,  and  have  some 


384  QUIXSTAR. 

anxiety  for  a  time ;  but  I  hope  we  can  all  submit  cheer- 
fully to  that,"  and  with  a  smile  the  captain  ceased  speak- 
ing, and  went  about  his  duties  as  if  there  were  nothing 
unusual  in  the  circumstances. 

He  had  the  soul  of  a  leader,  and  never  flinched,  al- 
though he  could  not  take  the  comfort  to  himself  he  had 
given  to  others.  He  felt  the  fire  would  conquer;  or  if 
they  conquered  it,  it  would  not  be  till  the  ship  was  dam- 
aged beyond  remedy.  It  was  possible  they  might  meet 
another  vessel,  but  only  possible  on  the  ground  that  noth- 
ing is  impossible ;  he  knew  they  were  out  of  the  track  of 
any  vessel,  for  a  sailor  knows  who  and  what  he  is  likely 
to  meet  with  on  the  ocean,  as  well  as  a  traveller  does 
who  is  accustomed  to  journey  over  an  extended  soli- 
tary heath. 

Every  heart  was  wonder-fully  lightened  of  its  first 
alarm,  but  as  the  day  wore  on,  hope  and  despair  came  up 
by  turns.  Where  had  the  ordinary  commonplace  peo- 
ple disappeared  to  ?  Creatures  at  bay  have  the  com- 
monplace suddenly  lashed  out  of  them.  The  quickening 
of  tremendous  emotion  had  transformed  the  dullest  face 
there.  It  seems  like  a  prophecy  and  a  proof  of  what 
may  be  in  another  state  of  existence,  of  the  possibilities 
that  lie  dormant,  to  be  roused  and  intensified  in  a 
higher  life.  If  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fortescue  wanted  any 
hints  in  their  art,  and  were  able  at  such  a  moment  to  take 
them  in,  they  had  a' wonderful  opportunity.  Mr.  Spenser 
was  e'qual  to  the  occasion,  and  took  brief  notes  to  fill  in 
when  he  should  reach  terra  firma — the  scenes  were  not 
likely  to  be  forgotten.  There  was  a  steerage  passenger, 
a  tall  woman  of  thirty,  whom  from  her  appearance  John 
Gilbert  had  called  Juno,  draped  in  a  black  gown  that 
swept  the  deck  in  folds,  and  having  a  scarlet  shawl  flung 
round  her  shoulders ;  she  had  great  black  eyes,  and  black 


QUIXSTAK.  385 

hair  with  a  ripple  and  the  sheen  of  a  raven's  wing  on  it ; 
it  was  swept  behind  her  ears,  and  hung  down  her  back. 
She  stood  on  the  deck  with  her  hands  raised  and  clasped 
like  some  prophetess  of  doom,  and  she  lifted  up  her  voice 
and  wept.  Long  and  loud  she  lifted  up  her  voice,  and 
it  was  deep  and  powerful,  though  soft.  "  O  my  husband ! 
my  husband !  my  husband !  I'll  never  see  him  more ! " 
was  the  burden  of  her  lamentation.  Women  gathered 
round  her,  and  lost  sight  for  a  minute  of  their  own  mis- 
ery endeavoring  to  comfort  her ;  but  she  refused  to  be 
comforted ;  her  cry  rang  on  the  air  again — the  waves 
could  not  drown  it. 

John  Gilbert  was  working  among  the  men  trying 
to  save  the  ship,  when  Captain  Veitch  said  to  him,  "  Go 
to  your  wife,  will  you,  and  ask  her  to  speak  to  that  poor 
woman,  and  soothe  her  down  if  she  can  ?  It  will  do 
herself  good-" 

*  John  had  left  his  wife  in  charge  of  Mr.  Doubleday. 
Effie  was  in  terror.  How  often  had  she  wished  herself 
safe  at  home,  and  here  was  she  hemmed  in  between  fire 
and  the  deep  cruel  sea  !  When  John  appeared,  dirty  and 
begrimed,  she  took  hold  of  him — "  You  are  not  to  leave 
me  again,"  she  said ;  "  it  is  too  horrible.  We'll  sink  any 
moment ;  and  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  No,  Effie  ;  things  are  not  so  bad  as  that  yet.  The 
captain  says,  Would  you  go  to  yon  woman  in  the  red 
shawl,  and  try  to  calm  her  ?  She  is  doing  a  world  of 
mischief,  exciting  the  rest  of  the  people." 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  Oh,  if  I  were  only  at  home  with 
mamma !  " 

"  Come,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday,  "  you'll  go  and  speak 
to  her.  I'll  go  with  you." 

Effie  was  hardly  the  person  to  pick  out  for  this  mis- 
sion.   Very  likely  the  captain  was  thinking  of  what  Bell 
17 


386  QUIXSTAR. 

could  have  done  in  such  circumstances  when  he  pro- 
posed it. 

Effie  pulled  the  woman's  shawl  to  get  her  attention. 
"  Don't  make  such  a  noise,1'  she  said ;  it  does  no  good. 
Your  husband  is  at  least  safe — I  would  be  glad  if  my 
husband  were  ashore." 

"  Would  you  ?  "  said  the  woman,  with  a  kind  of  glare 
at  Effie.  "  Then  you  don't  love;  you  don't  know  what 
love  is.  Oh,  if  I  had  my  husband  here  I  would  be  con- 
tent to  sink  with  him  in  hell ! " 

"  My  good  woman,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday,  "  you  don't 
know  what  you  are  saying,  or  you  would  not  say  it." 

"  She  is  mad,"  said  Effie,  shrinking  away. 

Poof  Effie !  with  her  flimsy  affection,  that  could  be 
blown  now  this  way,  and  now  that — what  understanding 
could  she  have  of  the  wild  abandonment  of  a  love  like 
this? 

This  woman  was  alone — she  had  no  children.  But 
there  were  women  who  had  gathered  their  children  round 
them,  and  crouched  in  abject  despair,  weeping  silently, 
while  their  husbands  tried  to  speak  words  of  hope  and 
safety  to  them.  There  was  one  man  who  had  taken  home 
his  family  a  year  before,  and  was  returning  to  wind  up 
his  affairs  and  go  home  finally  with  a  fortune.  He  kept 
muttering,  "  And  this  is  to  be  the  end  !  drowned  or 
suffocated  like  rats  in  a  hole — like  rats  in  a  hole  ! " 
There  were  passengers  who  had  toiled  and  waited  all 
their  lives  for  a  gleam  of  prosperity,  till  at  last  Fortune 
had  fairly  kicked  them  out  of  their  native  land.  Home- 
less, friendless,  moneyless,  they  had  gathered  together  a 
meagre  bundle  of  hopes,  to  try  a  start  once  more  in  a  new 
country.  This  seemed  a  fitting  climax  to  their  fate ;  it 
was  not  difficult  to  crush  hope  out  of  these. 

But  in  what  better  plight  was  the  man  with  £30,000 


QUIXSTAR.  387 

per  annum?  He  could  not  throw  a  bridge  of  gold 
across  the  waters ;  Fortune  had  played  into  his  hands  all 
his  life  only  to  turn  round  now  and  laugh  in  his  face.  But 
he  seemed  a  man  who  could  meet  even  such  an  emer- 
gency as  this  with  a  brave  spirit. 

When  night  came,  whether  it  might  have  been  safe 
or  not,  no  one  thought  of  leaving  the  deck.  A  tar- 
paulin roof  was  erected,  and  under  it  the  little  multitude 
spent  the  time  till  morning  dawned  again ;  and  upon 
what  an  array  of  haggard  faces  !  Features  that  yester- 
day were  lighted  with  hope  or  alive  with  despair  had 
dulled  down  into  a  dreary  resignation.  A  few  hours  of 
emotion  at  such  high  pressure  had  done  what  might 
have  been  the  work  of  months  in  ordinary  circum- 
stances. 

It  was  wearing  to  afternoon  of  the  second  day,  and 
it  became  evident  that  another  night  could  not  be  passed 
in  the  ship.  The  captain  ordered  the  boats  to  be  launched 
and  provisioned.  It  was  seen  that  by  the  time  the  whole 
living  freight  was  embarked  they  would  be  sunk  nearly 
to  the  gunwales,  consequently  the  stock  of  provisions 
they  could  carry  could  not  be  great;  but  what  they 
could  take  was  stowed.  Then  the  last  meal  that  was 
ever  to  be  eaten  on  board  the  Golden  Hind  was  served. 
The  captain  stood  at  the  head  of  his  company  and  said 
— "  O  God,  save  us,  we  perish  !  In  life  or  in  death  make 
us  feel  that  underneath  us  are  the  everlasting  arms. 
Look  on  us  sinners;  bless  this  food  for  the  saving  of 
our  lives ;  and  grant  us  mercy,  O  God,  grant  us  mercy, 
for  the  sake  of  Jesus  Christ.  Amen." 

To  not  one  there  was  that  utterance  an  empty  form. 
The  meal  was  swallowed,  and  then  they  all  stood,  men, 
women,  and  children,  waiting  till  the  last  moment  be- 
fore they  should  take  to  these  frail  boats.  There  was 


388  QUIXSTAR. 

no  confusion  and  little  noise,  for  even  the  children,  gath- 
ered round  the  women,  had  sobbed  themselves  out. 
Mrs.  Fortescue  gazed  at  these  family  groups — she  had 
left  five  little  children  of  her  own  behind,  and  this  was 
the  bitterness  of  death  to  her.  That  day  she  had  writ- 
ten to  them,  and  made  six  copies  of  her  letter,  which 
she  gave  to  six  different  persons,  thinking  that  one  would 
surely  reach  the  hearth  she  had  so  lately  quitted,  if  she 
herself  should  never  reach  it  more.  No  stage  eifect  in 
this — only  the  great  yearning  of  a  mother's  love. 

"  It's  of  no  use,"  Effie  Gilbert  said  to  her  husband 
and  Mr.  Doubleday,  who  were  standing  one  on  each 
side  of  her.  "  I  would  rather  perish  here  at  once  than 
go  to  die  of  cold  and  hunger  in  an  open  boat.  I  can't 
stand  it.  It's  too  horrible." 

"  But  you  must,"  said  John.  "  It's  the  only  chance, 
and  we  can't  leave  you  here." 

"  Then  stay.  It  was  you  who  brought  me  here,  and 
you  have  no  right  to  leave  me." 

"  I'll  not  leave  you,  Effie,"  he  said  soothingly. 

"  If  my  life  would  save  you,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday, 
"  how  willingly  I  would  give  it !  " 

"  But  it  won't,"  she  wailed.  "  Oh  what  a  horrible 
fate !  and  they'll  be  all  sitting  at  tea  in  Quixstar  at  this 
moment  as  if  nothing  were  happening." 

"  Come,  Mrs.  Gilbert,"  said  the  captain,  who  passed 
at  that  moment,  "  I  know  you'll  be  brave,  and  set  an 
example  to  these  poor  women  in  the  steerage." 

But  Effie  could  not  be  brave  in  such  circumstances. 
It  was  not  her  nature. 

Suddenly  a  great  cry  was  heard  of  "  A  sail  on  the 
weather  quarter !  " 

Every  eye  was  instantly  turned  in  the  direction  in- 
dicated, but  only  seafaring  organs  could  make  out  the 


QUIXSTAR.  389 

distant  object.  On  it  came,  however;  there  was  no 
mistake.  It  could  not  fail  to  sight  them  on  that  broad 
ocean,  and  soon  it  was  seen  bearing  up  to  the  rescue. 

The  awful  strain  was  relaxed.  Many  shouted  wild- 
ly; many  fell  to  the  deck  in  thanksgiving;  mothers 
clasped  their  children  and  were  able  to  sob  once  more. 
But  the  danger  was  not  over.  The  cabins  were  filled 
with  dense  smoke,  and  to  try  to  save  any  property 
would  have  been  madness.  The  tongues  of  flame  were 
darting  out,  and  licking  treacherously  round  and  along. 
The  ship  was  heeling  over,  and  the  waves  washing  into 
her  stern.  At  any  moment  she  might  go  down,  or  the 
flames  might  burst  along  the  deck. 

Captain  Veitch  had  some  difficulty  in  restoring  order 
after  the  first  ebullition  of  feeling  was  over,  and  he  im- 
mediately began  to  tell  off  the  parties  as  they  were  to 
go  in  the  boats  when  the  coming  ship  should  be  near 
enough. 

The  strange  ship  proved  to  be  the  gunboat  Vulcan 
of  the  African  squadron,  bound  for  Rio  Janeiro  to  get 
a  surgeon,  her  surgeon  having  died  suddenly — died  ap- 
parently that  the  lives  of  all  those  on  board  the  Golden 
Hind  might  be  saved,  as  but  for  this  event  no  sail  would 
have  crossed  the  path  of  the  doomed  ship. 

The  women  were -to  go  first;  but  Effie,  who  clung  to 
her  husband,  declared  she  would  not  go  without  him. 
She  would  not  be  reasoned  with,  but  Mrs.  Fortescue 
came  up  with  the  woman  in  the  red  shawl.  "  Come, 
Mrs.  Gilbert,"  she  said,  "  we  are  to  have  the  privilege 
of  going  first,  and  we  must  do  as  we  are  ordered,  and 
set  a  good  example.  Come,  I  am  leaving  my  husband 
too." 

"  And  I  am  going  to  mine,"  said  Juno,  whose  spirits 
from  the  depths  of  despair  had  gone  up  like  quicksilver 


390  QUIXSTAR. 

plunged  in  boiling  water.  These  three  headed  the  first 
company.  Effie  nearly  lost  her  senses  looking  down 
the  ship's  side  into  the  abyss  where  the  boat  was  swing- 
ing and  swaying,  but  Juno  descended  with  sure  and 
agile  steps,  and,  receiving  Effie  in  her  arms  from  the 
sailors,  set  her  in  her  place,  as  she  did  every  woman 
and  child  as  they  were  handed  down.  She  was  strong 
in  body  and  spirit,  and  did  a  man's  work  that  day.  The 
short  voyage  was  accomplished  without  accident,  but 
every  woman,  except  Mrs.  Fortescue  and  Juno,  fainted 
as  she  was  lifted  on  board  the  Vulcan,  whose  captain 
and  crew  lavished  every  attention  they  could  think  of 
on  their  unfortunate  guests. 

There  was  of  course  less  difficulty  in  transferring  the 
men,  but  there  was  an  accident.  When  midway  be- 
tween the  ship  and  the  boat  Mr.  Doubleday,  always 
short-sighted,  missed  his  footing,  and  went  right  down 
into  the  trough  of  the  wave.  He  fell  on  his  back  and 
never  uttered  a  sound.  John  Gilbert  said  the  expres- 
sion of  his  upturned  face,  off  which  the  spectacles  had 
floated,  reminded  him  of  nothing  so  much  as  of  the  look 
of  some  cattle  he  had  seen  pushed  overboard  in  a  High- 
land loch  to  find  their  way  to  the  nearest  shore^dumb, 
meek,  astonished  resignation  was  what  gleamed  from 
the  eyes  of  the  man  and  of  the  animals.  A  sailor  stand- 
ing by  with  a  rope  in  his  hand  leaped  overboard  in- 
stantly, and  caught  Mr.  Doubleday  as  he  came  to  the 
surface,  and  they  were  hauled  into  the  boat  apparently 
not  much  the  worse  of  the  bath. 

Captain  Veitch  was,  as  he  had  said  he  would  be,  the 
last  man  to  leave  the  ship.  For  two  days,  and  nearly 
two  nights,  he  had  never  relaxed  his  vigilance,  nor  for  a 
moment  lost  his  self-possession,  yet  worn  out  as  he  was 
no  one  would  have  guessed  it  either  from  his  speech  or 


QUIXSTAB.  391 

bearing,  only  his  face  looked  stony  as  he  watched,  with 
feelings  almost  as  if  she  had  been  a  living  thing,  the 
Golden  Hind  became  a  mass  of  flame  and  smoke  from 
stem  to  stern,  and  then  floated  away  a  mere  helpless 
charred  wreck  on  the  waters. 


CHAPTER    LVIL     . 

THE  Vulcan  carried  the  shipwrecked  company  to 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and  landed  them  there.  Cap- 
tain Veitch  immediately  dispatched  a  letter  to  his  own- 
ers, giving  full  details  of  the  catastrophe.  He  wrote 
also  to  his  father  and  mother,  and  to  Bell  Sinclair.  To 
her  he  said : — 

"  MY  DEAE  BELL, — I'll  be  home  rather  sooner  than  I 
expected.  We  have  had  an  accident  on  our  voyage.  The 
Golden  Hind  took  fire  owing  to  friction  in  the  cargo 
during  the  tossing  in  some  gales  we  had ;  but  we  all  got 
comfortably  on  board  another  vessel,  and  we  are  here  in 
perfect  safety.  I  hope  you'll  get  this  before  you  see  the 
newspapers.  They  are  sure  to  give  an  exaggerated  ac- 
count. We  had  an  '  own  correspondent '  on  board, 
whose  business  it  is  to  make  the  most  of  everything.  I 
daresay  if  I  saw  his  account  of  the  affair  I  would  "not 
know  it.  He  is  a  Mr.  Spenser,  and  was  once  at  Quix- 
star,  which  made  him  a  relation  at  once.  Most  of  our 
passengers  are  going  on  to  Melbourne  with  a  ship  which 
sails  from  this  port  almost  immediately.  Tell  Miss  Rae- 
burn  I  have  given  Mr.  Spenser  the  charge  of  Mr.  Double- 
day  for  the  rest  of  the  voyage,  so  that  she  may  keep  her 
mind  easy.  Your  sister  and  her  husband  are  looking 
well.  /.They  are  writing  too,  as  every  one  is.  Remem- 
ber a  man  is  not  burned  out  of  his  ship  twice  in  the 


QUIXSTAK.  393 

course  of  his  life.     I  have  had  no  time  of  late  for  tailor- 
ing.— I  am,  ever  yours,  PETER  VEITCH. 

"P.  S. — I'll   have   to  wait   some   time   for  a   vessel 
home." 

This  was  all  Capt.  Veitch  ever  said  of  his  own  cour- 
age and  endurance.  He  had  now  arranged  for  all  his 
passengers  being  sent  on  to  their  destinations,  he  had 
dispatched  his  letters,  and  at  last  he  fairly  gave  way, 
bent  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  sobbed  like  a  child. 

Effie  Gilbert  positively  refused  to  go  to  sea  again  im- 
mediately, and  John  was  quite  willing  to  spend  a  few 
weeks  at  the  Cape.  He  was  in  no  hurry.  Certainly  there 
was  nothing  going  wrong  at  Hongatonga  for  want  of 
him.  However,  they  and  Capt.  Veitch  accompanied  their 
late  fellow-voyagers  to  the  ship  in  which  they  hoped  to 
finish  their  voyage,  A  few  weeks  ago  they  had  not  known 
of  each  other's  existence,  now  they  parted  as  intimate 
and  endeared  friends.  John  issued  particular  invitations 
to  every  one  in  general  to  visit  him  at  Hongatonga,  and 
most  people  seemed  to  think  that  at  some  time  or  other 
that  embryo  city  would  lie  directly  in  their  path.  Mr. 
Doubleday  was  in  good  spirits.  Perhaps  he  had  got 
some  pages  of  the  magnum  opus  laid  out  in  his  mind  to 
his  own  satisfaction,  and  the  pearl  plaster  was  beginning 
te  take  effect. 

"  Well,"  he  said  to  Effie,  "  good-bye.  I'll  be  all  pre- 
pared to  welcome  you  when  you  come.  You  won't  be 
long?" 

"  I  don't  know.  If  I  could  persuade  John,  I  would 
rather  go  home  to  Quixstar." 

'•  Quixstar !  "  said  Mr.  Spenser,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders, "  better  fifty  years  of  the  fifth  quarter  of  the  globe 
than  a  cycle  of  Quixstar.  Your  husband  has  more 
Bense." 

17* 


394  QUIXSTAR. 

"  Mr.  Spenser  does  not  know  what  Quixstar  has  been 
to  you  and  me,  Mrs.  Gilbert,"  said  Mr.  Doubleday. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Spenser,  "  whether  you  come  or  not, 
Mrs.  Gilbert,  you'll  hear  of  Mr.  Doubleday  and  me  yet. 
I  mean  to  blow  his  trumpet  furiously  in  my  paper,  and 
he's  going  to  look  out  fresh  and  apt  classical  quotations 
for  me ;  between  us  we  mean  to  mould  young  Australia." 

"  It  will  take  all  your  energies,"  said  Peter.  "  It  is  a 
grand  work ;  I  wish  you  well." 

"  Au  rcvoir"  cried  John  Gilbert.  Mr.  Doubleday 
stood  on  the  deck  and  watched  them  till  they  were  out 
of  sight. 

"  Now,"  said  Effie,  "  now,  John,  you  have  asked  every 
creature,  including  Juno,  to  Hongatonga;  I  hope  I'll 
never  see  it.  Oh  take  me  home  !  If  I  once  had  my 
foot  on  English  ground,  no  power  would  tempt  me  into 
a  ship  again,"  and  she  shuddered. — "  I  suppose,  Peter," 
she  added,  "  you'll  go  to  sea  again  just  as  if  nothing  had 
happened ! " 

"  Just,"  he  said.  "  I  like  danger;  it's  the  most -whole- 
some and  legitimate  excitement  one  can  have,  and  it 
pushes  a  man  closer  to  his  fellow-creatures  and  his  Cre- 
ator than  any  one  thing  I  know." 

"  It  certainly  pushes  one  close  enough  to  one's  fellow- 
creatures,"  said  John — "  a  shade  too  close  for  my  taste." 

"  And,"  said  Peter,  "  it's  purifying ;  how  little  self- 
ishness, for  instance,  we  saw  in  the  scene  we  have  passed 
through." 

"  Did  we  ?  I  saw  quite  enough  and  to  spare,"  said 
John. 

Now  there  are  two  reasons  for  this  difference  of 
opinion.  People  generally  see  best  what  they  have  eyes 
to  see — none  are  so  quick  at  detecting  selfishness  as  the 
selfish — and  again,  though  Peter  made  no  pretensions  to 


QUIXSTAR.  395 

extra  goodness,  and  did  not  pride  himself  on  continually 
influencing  his  fellow-creatures,  there  was  that  about 
him  which  somehow  or  other  made  vice,  whether  big  or 
little,  fall  back  and  hide  itself  in  his  presence.  He  had 
this  kind  of  greatness,  and  was  not  conscious  of  it ;  if  he 
had  been  conscious  of  it,  it  would  have  been  smallness. 

"  I  would  like  to  see  the  meeting  between  Juno  and 
her  husband,"  said  Peter. 

"  Very  likely  Jupiter  will  be  more  surprised  than 
pleased,"  said  John ;  "  the  chances  are  he's  little  and  hen- 
pecked, and  set  off  to  Australia  to  be  out  of  her  reach — 
one  may  have  too  much  of  a  good  thing." 

"  I  would  think,"  said  Peter,  "  that  a  man  who  could 
inspire  love  like  hers — " 

"Stuff!"  said  John;  "it's  not  inspiration,  it's  outspir- 
ation — the  woman's  nature ;  Jupiter  may  be  a  tall  fel- 
low who  can  hold  his  own,  but,  according  to  the  doctrine 
of  probabilities,  he's  little  and  henpecked." 

"Is  it  according  to  the  doctrine  of  probabilities,"  said 
Eflie,  "  or  is  it  my  fancy,  that  you  are  walking  as  if  you 
were  lame  ?  " 

"  I'm  hardly  lame,"  John  said ;  "  it's  a  mere  trifle.  I 
ran  my  foot  against  a  nail  coming  out  of  the  Vulcan, 
and  I  feel  it  a  little." 

"  That's  not  a  good  thing,"  said  Peter.  "  Have  you 
attended  to  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  was  a  mere  nothing,  and  it  is  almost  healed 
now." 

"  I  say,  Peter,"  Effie  said,  "  help  me  to  persuade  John 
either  to  take  me  home  or  to  stay  here.  He  would  be 
quite  as  well  here  as  at  Hongatonga.  I  shrink  from  the 
sea.  I  shudder  at  such  horrors.  I  could  risk  it  only  if 
he  would  take  me  home,  but  to  go  away  to  an  outland- 
ish place  like  Hongatonga,  I  can't  do  it — don't  ask  me." 


396  QUIXSTAR. 

"Do  not  think  of  it  at  all  no\v,"  said  John,  "you'll 
get  over  the  fright  and  get  up  your  spirits  in  a  week  or 
two,  and  then  you'll  be  better  able  to  see  what's  what — 
there's  no  hurry,  you  know." 

"  If  it  is  only  the  voyage  that  frightens  you,"  said 
Peter,  "  the  likelihood  is  you  would  have  an  uncommon- 
ly pleasant  voyage."  ' 

"Nothing  in  the  shape  of  a  voyage  can  be  pleasant 
to  me,"  she  said. 

But  she  was. to  have  a  voyage,  and  a  voyage  home 
too. 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  Mrs.  John  Gilbert's  love  for 
her  husband  was  of  the  fair-weather  kind, — it  was  for 
better,  not  for  worse ;  not  that  she  was  very  selfish,  she 
could  not  be  called  that,  but  her  nature  was  weak ;  she 
could  not  encounter  hardship,  nor  brave  danger,  nor  sac- 
rifice herself;  she  had  no  love  deep  enough  for  that,  and 
yet  in  her  own  measure  she  loved.  Poor  thing,  it  seem- 
ed as  if  all  that  befell  her  at  this  time  was  like  breaking 
a  butterfly  on  the  wheel.  The  rest  and  rational  relaxa- 
tion they  took  in  seeing  what  was  to  be  seen,  and  mak- 
ing themselves  acquainted  with  the  manners  and  cus- 
toms of  the  place,  told  most  beneficially  on  Efh'e  and 
Captain  Veitch,  but  John  Gilbert  was  not  in  his  usual 
high  health  and  spirits.  He  complained  of  lassitude,  and 
one  evening  when  they  returned  from  a  ride  in  the 
country  he  spoke  of  having  pain  about  his  throat  and  a 
stiffness,  and  seemed  depressed  and  restless. 

"  You  are  tired,"  said  his  wife. 

"  Tired  !  what  should  I  be  tired  with  ?  it's  not  that.'7 

"  Then  what  is  it  ?  a  sore  throat  ?  Put  something 
round  it  and  go  to  bed,  that's  the  best  thing,  or  would 
you  like  us  to  send  for  a  doctor  ?  " 

"  Yest"  he  said,  "  send  for  a  doctor." 


QUIXSTAR.  397 

Peter  was  struck  with  his  tones,  and  when  Effie  went 
out  of  the  room  he  looked  at  him  closely  and  asked, 
"  John,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  time  will  tell.  I'll  go  to  bed ;  help 
me." 

It  was  evident  he  was  struck  down  with  serious  ill- 
ness of  some  kind,  and  Peter's  first  thought  was,  "  I  am 
glad  I  am  here  to  help  them." 

It  was  an  hour  or  two  before  a  doctor  came,  and 
when  he  did  come  he  had  no  difficulty  in  recognizing 
tetanus,  but  not  a  hopeless  case  at  all — not  hopeless." 

It  was  well  for  Effie  that  she  had  such  a  friend  as 
Peter  to  think  and  act  for  her  through  this  terrible  time. 
At  his  suggestion  the  landlady  of  the  house  kept  Mrs. 
Gilbert  with  herself,  and  she  only  saw  her  husband  oc- 
casionally between  the  paroxysms  of  suifering.  Her 
love,  you  see,  was  of  the  kind  that  could  be  satisfied  in 
knowing  he  was  in  the  best  hands.  Oh,  if  his  mother 
had  been  there,  how  she  would  have  encompassed  him 
with  her  love  !  Yet  after  all,  what  could  either  of  them 
have  done  ?  They  could  not  have  lessened  his  agony, 
they  could  only  have  increased  their  own. 

The  doctor  might  or  might  not  be  a  skilful  man,  but 
he  went  through  the  cours.e  of  remedies  with  a  confidence 
in  himself  that  knew  no  abatement,  and  he  and  Peter 
never  left  the  patient.  The  suffering  which  in  three 
days  will  lay  a  man  low  who  has  been  in  the  flush  of 
"youth  and  strength  is  not  small,  yet  through  it  all  John's 
mind  was  as  clear  and  firm  as  possible.  On  the  second 
day  he  could  not  speak,  but  he  made  signs  for  a  pen,  and 
wrote  on  a  scrap  of  paper  these  words,  "  Don't  tell  my 
mother  yet."  Ah,  that  was  the  cry  of  a  full  heart.  No 
one  could  read  it  surely  without  strong  sympathy  for 
mother  and  son.  "  Don't  tell  her  yet?  When  was  she 


398  QUIXSTAB. 

to  be  told?  When?  He  wrote  again,  "Take  Effie 
home."  That  was  all.  What  the  multitude  of  his 
thoughts  within  him  were  who  can  tell  ?  He  was  fully 
able  to  think  till  nearly  the  very  last,  when  probably  the 
influence  of  narcotics  overpowered  him,  and  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  third  day  of  his  illness  he  passed  away. 

Effie's  grief  was  altogether  violent  and  overmaster- 
ing. Its  very  violence  exhausted  it  only  to  come  on 
again  after  a  time  with  renewed  force.  She  had  never 
encountered  either  illness  or  death  before,  and  it  seemed 
an  impossibility — an  impossibility,  and  yet  there  was  the 
awful  stillness,  and  the  awful  whiteness. 

Ten  days  later,  Mrs.  Gilbert  and  Captain  Veitch 
were  on  their  homeward  voyage,  and  John  Gilbert  was 
left  to  sleep  the  long  sleep  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope 
— far  from  country  or  kindred.  All  who  had  known 
John,  and  heard  of  his  strange  sudden  death,  felt  as  if 
the  world  were  a  chillier  place  than  it  had  been  before, 
and  that  they  could  more  easily  have  spared  a  better 
man.  There  had  been  so  much  about  him  that  was 
lovable,  and  if  only  he  had  lived —  But  he  had  not, 
and  his  lost  possibilities  were  shut  into  eternity. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

the  late  passengers  of  the  Golden  Hind  were 
afloat  once  more,  and  had  time  to  recall  all  that  had 
passed,  it  struck  one  and  another  of  them  that  but  for 
the  coolness  and  resource  of  Captain  Veitch  none  of 
them  might  have  been  alive  to  tell  the  tale,  and  it  was 
proposed  simultaneously  by  Mr.  Fortescue  and  Mr. 
Spenser  that  an  address  should  be  sent  to  him  acknowl- 
edging their  gratitude,  and  testifying  to  his  brave,  good 
qualities,  signed  by  all  his  passengers.  This  was  eagerly 
entered  into  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest.  Mr.  Spen- 
ser then  suggested  that,  as  a  sort  of  substance  to  the 
shadow,  they  should  subscribe,  however  little,  and  send 
him  a  sum  of  money  along  with  the  address.  This  was 
heartily  entered  into  also  ;  but  many  of  them  were  poor, 
and  all  of  them  had  lost,  if  not  money,  their  personal 
effects  in  the  burning  of  the  Golden  Hind,  so  that 
much  could  not  be  expected.  There  was  Mr.  Walker, 
the  £30,000  a  year  man,  it  is  true,  and  he  approved  also ; 
but  he  told  Mr.  Spenser  to  get  his  list  of  subscriptions, 
and  come  to  him  last,  and  he  would  give  as  other  people 
gave.  Mr.  Spenser  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said  to 
himself  that  it  was  a  queer  world — a  conclusion  he  had 
not  unfrequently  arrived  at  in  the  course  of  his  life. 

Mr.  Spenser  was  wonderfully  successful,  gratitude 
not  being  such  a  rare  growth  as  cynics  would  have  us 
believe. 


400  QUIXSTAR. 

When  he  applied  to  Mr.  Doubleday  —  who,  poor 
man,  was  lying  in  his  berth  far  from  well — he  said  sim- 
ply, and  without  reserve,  "  I  can  give  you  nothing.  I 
am  living  on  charity  myself  at  present,  but  if  I  ever 
have  it  in  my  power  I'll  not  forget  to  acknowledge  my 
debt  to  Captain  Veitch."  Mr.  Spencer  felt  small,  if 
he  had  had  money,  he  would  have  given  it,  whether  it 
belonged  to  himself  or  not ;  if  he  had  not  had  it,  he 
would  have  given  some  other  reason  for  not  giving  it. 
He  held  that  to  seem  poor  is  worse  than  to  be  poor.  To 
feel  poor,  however,  is  a  great  deal  worse  than  either. 
That,  and  that  only,  is  poverty,  a  poverty  that  Mr. 
Doubleday  had  never  experienced. 

Mr.  Walker  looked  over  the  list  of  subscriptions,  and 
said,  "  They  have  done  well.  I'll  give  you  mine  before 
we  land."  When  they  made  the  harbor  he  came  to  Mr. 
Spenser  as  he  was  standing  on  the  deck  -with  Mr. 
Doubleday,  and  said,  "  There  is  an  order  on  Liverpool 
for  £1000.  Send  that  with  the  address  to  Captain 
Veitch,  let  the  other  people  keep  their  money,  and  here  is 
£1000  to  divide  among  the  steerage  passengers.  Per- 
haps you,  gentlemen,  will  take  the  trouble  to  see  it  dis- 
tributed somewhat  equally.  I'll  be  glad  to  see  you  at 
my  place  any  time.  That's  all.  I'm  off,"  and  he  shook 
hands,  and  went  ashore  immediately. 

Mr.  Doubleday's  face  softened,  and  beamed  in  the 
presence  of  a  good  action.  "  That  is  generous,"  he  said. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Spenser,  "  I  fully  expected  he 
would  give  me  the  slip.  Yes,  it  is  good ;  but  he'll  never 
miss  it.  Two  thousand  farthings  from  either  you  or 
me  would  have  been  a  far  bigger  gift  in  proportion,  and 
we  would  have  both  missed  it.  It  would  have  been 
self-denial,  Avhich  is  true  generosity." 

"  His  looks  a  fabulous  income  to  us,"  said  Mr.  Dou- 


QUIXSTAR.  401 

bleday ;  "but  people  who  have  much  have  just  as  much 
to  do  with  it.  Perhaps  he  is  denying  himself  something, 
who  knows  ?" 

"  Well,  well,  we'll  give  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt, 
and  not  knock  the  bottom  out  of  a  good  action. — Come, 
you'll  have  to  help  me  to  apportion  it." 

Any  one  who  does  not  believe  in  gratitude  ought 
to  have  seen  the  faces  of  these  steerage  passengers,  as 
one  by  one  they  got  the  sum  that  was  to  stand  between 
them  and  starvation  in  a  strange  country.  Mr.  Double- 
day  had  never  done  anything  in  his  life  that  gave  him 
more  pleasure  than  acting  in  this  instance  as  a  medium. 

When  Captain  Veitch  and  Mrs.  Gilbert  arrived  at 
Liverpool  they  went  first  to  a  hotel,  where  Efiie  re- 
mained to  rest  while  the  captain  went  to  call  on  the 
owners  of  the  unfortunate  Golden  Hind,  by  which,  it 
may  be  observed,  they  had  lost  nothing,  the  ship  being 
fully  insured.  They  gave  him  a  very  hearty  reception, 
and  handed  to  him  the  address  and  enclosure  from  the 
passengers  of  the  wrecked  ship.  His  face  flushed  as  he 
read.  "Most  extraordinary  ! "  said  he,  " I  did  nothing 
more  than  my  duty — what  any  man  would  have  done  in 
my  place." 

"  Well,  you  know,  Captain  Veitch,"  said  one  of  the 
partners  of  the  ship-owning  firm,  "there  are  always  two 
ways  of  doing  a  duty,  and  you  seem  not  to  have  taken 
the  worst.  We  have  another  ship  building,  and  nearly 
ready  to  launch,  which  is  also  to  be  the  Golden  Hind. 
It  is  a  very  fine  ship;  if  you  like  to  take  the  command 
of  her,  we'll  be  only  too  glad  to  secure  your  services." 

As  a  matter  of  course  Captain  Veitch  accepted  the 
ofler. 

There  was  a  private  note  from  Spenser,  giving  the 
particulars  of  the  presentation,  and  ending  with — "  So 


402  QUIXSTAR. 

you  need  have  no  qualms  about  the  money,  for  thereby 
you  are  not  grinding  the  faces  of  the  poor.  Your  friend 
Mr.  Doubleday  has  not  been  well;  I  doubt  he  is  a  man 
of  a  delicate  constitution.  He  is  better,  however,  than 
he  has  been,  and  I  hope  a  few  days  will  set  him  up 
again.  He  and  I  lodge  together,  and  he  is  in  excellent 
spirits,  looking  forward  to  beginning  his  work  shortly ; 
and  I  expect  before  you  get  this  we'll  be  cheered  by  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gilbert." 

By  noon  next  day  Effie  and  Peter  were  at  the  gate 
of  Old  Battle  House.  Mrs.  Sinclair  and  Bell  were  sit- 
ting quietly  at  work  when  Effie  burst  into  the  familiar 
room,  and  flung  her  arms  round  her  mother's  neck, 
laughing.  Actually  she  had  forgotten  her  widowhood 
and  everything  hi  the  one  feeling  that  she  was  at  home 
and  safe  once  more ;  but  when  she  saw  their  grave  faces 
she  sank  on  a  sofa  and  burst  into  hysterical  tears.  Her 
mother  and  sister  set  themselves  to  soothe  and  comfort 
her;  poor  thing,  she  needed.it. 

Peter  had  not  followed  her.  He  was  as  eager  to 
see  Bell  as  she  could  be ;  but  he  could  not  intrude  on 
such  a  meeting,  so  he  made  his  way  to  Mr.  Sinclair's 
room,  where  that  gentleman  was  sitting  reading.  He 
rose  and  welcomed  Peter  with  enthusiasm,  and  put  him 
in  his  own  peculiar  chair — that  chair  which  Peter  had 
thought  a  resting-place  of  unimaginable  luxury,  when 
after  cleaning  the  gravel  he  had  vaulted  in  at  one  of  the 
windows,  and  sank  in  it  by  way  of  a  boyish  experi- 
ment. 

"  You  are  quite  a  hero  nowa  Peter,"  said  Mr.  Sin- 
clair. 

"  It  must  be  in  a  small  way,  surely,"  Peter  said. 

"  One  likes  modesty,  of  course,  Peter ;  but  I  have 
the  idea  that  it  would  be  an  easier  thing  to  go  into  bat- 


QUIXSTAR.  403 

tie  than  to  command  a  ship  on  fire  and  control  all  the 
people." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that ;  it  was  not  my  duty  to 
kill  men.  But  it  was  a  strain,  I  acknowledge.  I  had 
not  my  clothes  off  for  two  days  and  nights ;  I  must  have 
slept,  but  when  I  don't  know.  I  would  not  like  to  go 
through  the  same  thing  again." 

"  I  can  believe  that. — And  poor  John  Gilbert  has 
gone  the  way  of  all  the  earth  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  where  is  Erne  ?  how  is  she  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Sin- 
clair. 

"She  is  here;  I  brought  her  with  me.  She  has 
stood  it  wonderfully.  I  thought  at  first  she  would 
break  down  altogether,  her  grief  was  so  violent  and  so 
keen." 

"  Poor  thing  !  poor  thing ! "  said  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"  Ay,  she  has  a  hard  time  of  it  since  she  left  this 
house,"  said  Peter ;  "  and  it  was  all  very  new  to  her." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair,  "  I  understand  you 
want  to  subject  another  young  woman  to  the  same  style 
of  hardship  ?  " 

"She  has  told  you?" 

"  Yes,  she  has  told  me." 

"  And  you  approve  ?  " 

"  I  approve  of  you,  and  I  approve  of  you  sticking  to 
your  business,  and  I  approve  of  her  approving  of  you  ; 
but  if  a  sort  of  steady-going  happiness  is  her  object — " 

"  It's  not  her  object.  She  has  considered  the  thing ; 
she  can  do  without  happiness,  and  she'll  be  very  happy 
— I'm  sure  of  it." 

"  Well,  if  she  does  not  want  happiness,  and  can  do 
without  it,  and  is  sure  to  have  it,  I  have  nothing  more 
to  say.  She  must  make  the  best  of  It,  and  she'll  do 


404  QUIXSTAR. 

that.  I  admire  both  your  taste  and  your  wisdom. — But 
I  must  go  and  see  Effie ;  just  sit  still  for  a  little,  will 
you?" 

In  spite  of  the  events  of  the  last  three  months,  and 
in  spite  of  his  philosophical  estimate  of  the  place  happi- 
ness should  hold  in  the  theory  of  a  man's  life,  Peter  was 
at  this  moment  exceedingly  happy.  Of  course  there 
are  people  who  think  less  of  themselves  when  others 
think  more,  who,  the  more  they  are  praised,  know  them- 
selves the  more  unworthy,  and  have  no  feeling  but  that 
of  a  whipped  cur.  Peter  was  not  of  that  stamp ;  he 
was  honestly  happy  without  thinking  particularly  about 
himself  at  all — his  merits  or  demerits. 

In  a  minute  or  two  Bell  swept  in,  as  majestic  as  ever; 
on  her  face  the  oxymel  expression  of  joy  and  grief  oc- 
casioned by  her  sister's  arrival.  Peter  was  standing  in 
the  window  farthest  away,  and  was  not  in  view  from 
the  door. 

"  I  wonder  what  uncle  sent  me  here  for  ?  "  she  said 
to  herself. 

She  did  not  wonder  long.  Imagine  that  meeting. 
Observe  also  that  Mr.  Sinclair  was  not  wholly  lost  to 
sympathy  with  humanity  in  its  more  tender  phases,  and 
that  he  could  even  execute  a  manoeuvre  in  its  behalf — 
not  complicated,  it  is  true,  but  equivalent  perhaps  to 
what  in  drill  is  called  the  goose-step. 

"  Bell,"  said  Peter,  after  the  first  outburst  of  feeling 
was  fairly  over,  "  a  rich  man  has  given  me  a  thousand 
pounds.  He  must  have  known  that  I  wanted  money 
to  begin  housekeeping  with." 

"  But  you  didn't ;  I  have  plenty." 

"  Yes,  but—" 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  mouth — "  Now  don't  be 
small ;  don't  take  my  hero  down  a  few  pegs  in  my  esti- 


QUIXSTAR.  405 

mation.  There  is  to  be  no  question  of  money  or  any- 
thing else  between  you  and  me;  we  are  one  and  indi- 
visible." 

"  I  was  not  going  to  be  small ;  but  we'll  let  the  sub- 
ject rest  in  the  mean  time." 

"  If  you  would  only  give  up  the  sea,  your  thousand 
pounds  would  set  you  agoing  as  a  tailor  very  well." 

"  Yes,  it  would,  very  well.  Do  you  regret  your  prom- 
ise, Bell,  to  marry,  a  sailor  ?  " 

"  Not  an  atom,"  said  she ;  "  but  oh,  Peter,  if  you  had 
perished  in  the  Golden  Hind!  " 

"  Let  us  be  grateful  that  no  one  perished." 

"And  \\hen  I  thought  of  that  silly  quarrel  we  had 
the  day  you  went  away — it  will  be  a  lesson  never  to 
quarrel  again  ?  " 

•"  What  quarrel  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  remember  ?  the  day  after  the  hall  was 
opened." 

"  I  remember  you  calling  when  I  had  barely  time  to 
speak  to  you ;  it  was  an  intense  pleasure  to  me,  but  it 
takes  two  people  to  quarrel,  doesn't  it  ?  Now  I  never 
quarrelled,  and  to  this  hour  I  have  no't  a  notion  of  what 
offended  you." 

"  Then  I  won't  tell  you." 

"  Not  if  it  is  disagreeable  to  you ;  but  I  might  mark 
the  rock  on  my  chart  and  avoid  it  in  future  if  you  were 
to  tell  me." 

"  I'll  risk  you  bumping  on  it." 

"  Have  you  seen  the  Gilberts  lately  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  them  every  day  since  the  sad  news 
came." 

"  And  how  are  they?  how  is  Mrs.  Gilbert?" 

"  They  are  well.  You  know  old  Mrs.  Gilbert,  John's 
aunt,  died  just  before  the  news  came,  and  was  spared 


406  QUIXSTAB. 

that  pang — he  used  to  be  a  kind  of  idol  of  hers.  She 
has  left  all  she  had  to  Mr.  Gilbert.  I  like  to  see  money 
go  straight  to  the  right  place." 

"  I  am  just  going  to  see  Mrs.  Gilbert ;  I  can  give  her 
every  particular,  and  save  Effie  the  pain  of  doing  it. 
See,  I  have  this  to  give  her,"  and  he  showed  Bell  John's 
last  writing — "  Don't  tell  my  mother  yet." 

"  Poor  John  !  that  is  very  touching." 

"  It  is  that.  I  must  go,  though.  I  have  not  been 
home  yet,  but  I'll  go  to  Mrs.  Gilbert  first." 

"  You'll  find  her  very  calm.  Mrs.  Gilbert  has  the  se- 
cret of  being  calm  in  any  circumstances ;  take  her  all  in 
all,  she  is  the  most  perfect  woman  I  know.  One  thing 
more — how  is  Mr.  Doubleday  ?  " 

"  He  was  looking  very  well  when  I  saw  him  last,  but 
he  has  not  been  well  since ;  he  fell  into  the  sea  in  going 
to  the  Vulcan,  and  he  was  too  long  in  getting  his  clothes 
changed ;  in  the  circumstances,  that  could  not  be  helped, 
and  it  may  have  told  on  him,  but  we'll  hope  he's  all  right 
by  this  time." 

Peter,  as  he  expected,  found  Mrs.  Gilbert  very  calm. 
He  gave  her  a  detailed  account  of  John's  illness,  soften- 
ing it  as  much  as  possible.  She  listened  intently,  but 
asked  few  questions ;  when  he  gave  her  John's  last  writ- 
ing she  did  not  look  at  it.  She  asked  most  tenderly  for 
Effie,  went  to  the  gate  with  him,  and  thanked  him  for 
his  kindness,  his  great  kindness,  to  her  son.  When  she 
went  in  she  read  the  words  on  the  paper ;  a  great  cry 
of  anguish  escaped  her;  her  feeling  was  that  of  the  Jew- 
ish king,  "  Would  God  I  had  died  for  thee,  my  son ! 
my  son  !  "  But  Mr.  Gilbert  was  coming  in ;  she  put  the 
paper  away :  instinctively  even  at  that  moment  she  felt 
that  if  he  saw  it  he  would  brood  over  the  fact  that  John 
had  written  of  her  and  not  of  him;  neither  could  she 


QUIXSTAB.  407 

share  this  sad  memento  with  Mary,  for  she  could  not 
tell  her  that  she  was  not  to  speak  of  it  to  her  father,  but 
Mrs.  Gilbert  kept  it — how  carefully  she  kept  it ! 

Then  Peter  went  home.  His  father  received  him 
with  hearty  pride,  his  mother  with  tearful  joy.  Shrewd 
and  thrifty,  they  had  a  keen  enjoyment  in  hearing  of  the 
money  that  had  come  to  him  so  unexpectedly.  The 
sum  seemed  to  them  a  fortune,  and  comparatively  few 
people  have  souls  sufficiently  elevated  to  be  wholly  un- 
moved by  a  golden  shower,  expected  or  unexpected. 

"  Thirty  thousand  a  year,  did  ye  say,  Peter  ?  "  his 
father  remarked, "  and  originally  a  man  frae  our  ain  rank 
o'life — 'od  he'll  be  fair  clatty"  (tarred  and  feathered) 
"  wi'  siller." 

It  was  graphic — think  of  it,  O  ye  impecunious  hosts, 
what  kind  of  sensation  must  it  be  to  be  "clatty  wi' 
siller ! " 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

A  MONTH  passed,  and  the  Australian  mail  came  in 
again.  Miss  Raeburn  had  been  watching  for  it. — so,  in 
spite  of  the  fulness  of  her  own  life,  had  Bell  Sinclair. 
Miss  Raeburn  got  a  letter  addressed  in  an  unknown 
hand ;  she  opened  it  with  a  sickening  feeling  of  dread  as 
to  what  its  contents  might  be.  It  was  written  by  Mr. 
Spenser,  and  said — 

"  DEAR  MADAM, — Although  I  am  a  stranger  to  you, 
you  are  not  altogether  a  stranger  to  me.  When  Mr. 
Doubleday  spoke  of  you  I  had  no  difficulty  in  recalling 
the  fact  that  I  had  frequently  seen  you  when  I  chanced 
to  be  in  Quixstar,  a  good  many  years  ago  now.  I  think 
Mr.  Doubleday  told  me  he  wrote  to  you  last  mail, 
though  only  a  brief  note.  He  was  not  given  to  make 
himself  his  subject,  but  probably  he  mentioned  he  had 
been  ill,  so  that  you  may  not  be  absolutely  unprepared 
for  my  sad  news.  He  died  yesterday,  at  a  quarter  to 
four  in  the  afternoon.  He  was  never  confined  to  bed, 
and  did  not  appear  to  suffer  much,  or  to  think  himself 
seriously  ill — always  speaking  spiritedly  of  his  plans  for 
the  future.  He  took  great  pleasure  in  the  visits  of  a  Mr. 
Johnston,  a  native  of  Quixstar,  who  is  over  from  New 
Zealand  just  now,  and  whom  I  met  accidentally;  he 
came  very  frequently  to  see  him,  and  they  had  many 
subjects  in  common.  I  discovered  that  Mr.  Johnston  is 
in  possession  of  a  picture  of  mine,  which  he  bought  be- 


QUIXSTAR.  409 

cause  he  recognized  the  scene,  Peter  Veitch's  cottage  in 
Quixstar.  Mr.  Doubleday  told  me  with  a  good  deal  of 
enjoyment  that  John  Gilbert  and  other  boys  used  to  call 
Mr.  Johnston's  father  Old  Bloody  Politeful  as  a  nick- 
name. He  was  reading  a  story,  too,  which  he  also  en- 
joyed ;  it  was  in  some  numbers  of  a  magazine  lent  him 
by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fortescue,  people  with  whom  we 
crossed  from  Liverpool.  Mr.  Fortescue  said  to  me  that 
Mr.  Doubleday  had  a  great  man  in  him,  but  wanted  a 
prompter.  Yesterday  at  this  time  he  was  reading  the 
last  number  of  the  magazine  I  have  mentioned.  The 
story  was  not  finished.  I  said,  '  The  new  number  will 
be  here  in  a  few  days.'  He  was  lying  back  in  his  chair, 
and  he  said,  '  I  would  like  to  see  how  it  ends,  but  it 
will  end  well — stories  all  end  well,'  and  he  gave  what 
seemed  a  sigh.  A  few  minutes  after  I  looked  at  him, 
and  he  was  gone — his  story  was  finished — well,  we  are 
certain.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gilbert  have  not  yet  arrived ;  he 
looked  eagerly  forward  to  seeing  them  again. — Dear 
madam,  with  true  sympathy,  I  am,  yours  sincerely, 

"  CHARLES  SPENSER." 

After  reading  this  Miss  Raeburn  sat  spell-bound  for 
a  time ;  she  could  not  believe  it,  and  yet  he  had  been 
dead  almost  two  months.  She  liked  sympathy ;  and,  with 
the  letter  in  her  hand,  she  set  off  for  Old  Battle  House. 
As  she  passed  Peter  Veitch's  cottage,  looking  as  like  a 
picture  as  ever,  she  went  in  and  told  her  news. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  the  gardener, "  and  Mr.  Doubleday's 
dead.  Weel,  he'll  wun  far'er  forrit  in  the  next  world 
than  ever  he  did  in  this." 

Captain  Peter  went  with  her  to  Old  Battle  House ; 
and  without  doubt  they  were  all  saddened  by  the  intelli- 
gence.    Miss  Raeburn  said — 
18 


410  QTTIXSTAR. 

"  He  had  _no  fear  of  dying.  He  has  told  me  that 
many  a  time  he  had  wished  to  die,  and  that  if  ever  I 
heard  of  his  death  I  was  not  to  be  sorry." 

"  He  was  a  most  modest,  unselfish  being,"  said  Bell, 
her  eyes  filling  with  tears  :  "  and  I  am  afraid  we  did  not 
make  him  so  happy  here  as  we  might  have  done." 

"As  to  that,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair,  "I  have  no  reflec- 
tions. I  did  my  duty  by  him ;  few  people  would  have 
had  the  patience  with  him  that  I  had.  But  I  am  very 
sorry  the  poor  man  has  not  lived  to  profit  by  the  situa- 
tion after  so  many  people  taking  so  much  trouble  to  get 
it  for  him." 

"  It  seemed,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair,  "  the  post  exactly 
suited  for  him ;  but  man  proposes." 

Miss  Raeburn  went  back  to  her  house,  feeling  that 
she  was  the  chief  mourner.  It  was  fitting  that  Mr. 
Doubleday  should  pass  away  as  unnoticed  as  he  had 
lived.  He  had  carried  the  magnum  opus  with  him  to 
where  he  would  have  scope  and  verge  enough  ;  his  early 
wish  was  accomplished — he  had  burst  into  infinity,  and 
knew  even  as  he  was  known. 

Mrs.  Sinclair's  love  for  her  favorite  daughter  triumph- 
ed over  her  anger — even  over  the  sting  of  the  affront 
which  Eftie's  conduct  had  subjected  her  to.  She  got 
hot  when  she  thought  of  it  yet — jilting  a  man  in  the 
position  of  George  Raeburn,  and  going  off  when  the 
very  dinner  was  on  the  table  and  the  guests  arriving, 
leaving  her  to  make  tho  best  and  the  worst  of  it.  But 
Effie  had  suffered  for  it ;  and  Mrs.  Sinclair  took  her  back 
into  her  old  place  as  if  she  never  had  left  it.  In  her 
own  private  mind  Mrs.  Sinclair  thought  it  was  possible, 
nay,  likely,  that  George  Raeburu  would  renew  his  suit. 
She  did  not  know  him.  Effie  was  as  clean  swept  out  of 
his  heart  as  if  she  had  never  been  there — never.  He 


QUIXSTAR.  411 

even  imagined  that  he  had  forgotten  how  fiercely  his 
pride  had  been  stung,  but  he  had  not,  nor  ever  would. 

Mrs.  Sinclair  had  been  disappointed  in  her  son's 
career  and  marriage;  she  had  been  more  than  disap- 
pointed in  Effie ;  and  it  filled  up  her  measure  when  Bell 
had  revealed  her  engagement  with  Peter  Veitch.  But 
there  was  no  help  for  it — no  help.  Now  that  Effie  was 
home,  she  poured  forth  her  feelings  on  the  subject  to 
her,  and  got  sympathy.  Effie's  judicious  remarks  on 
Bell's  folly  were  edifying. 

''  It  is  not,"  she  said,  "  that  I  don't  like  Peter  Veitch. 
I  would  be  very  ungrateful  if  I  didn't.  But  what's  the 
captain  of  a  merchant  vessel  ?  I  don't  suppose  many  of 
them  get  over  twenty  pounds  a  month ;  and  no  position, 
no  social  position  whatever.  And  then  the  sea  !  If 
Bell  had  only  seen  what  I  have  seen,  it  would  be  the  last 
thing  she  would  do.  But  it's  impossible  to  make  her  feel 
it ;  people  must  see  with  their  own  eyes  to  know  its 
horrors." 

"  Then  the  connection,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Effie,  "  I  don't  suppose  old  Peter 
and  his  wife  will  expect  to  come  here  very  often." 

"  I  have  no  idea  what  such  people  expect,"  said  Mrs. 
Sinclair  ;  "  but  Bell  is  infatuated  enough  for  anything." 

"  It's  extraordinary,"  said  Effie  ;  "  there's  nothing  so 
very  fascinating  about  Peter  Veitch,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  should  say  not,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair.  "  It's  pure 
infatuation ;  and  one  may  as  well  try  to  stop  the  Eden 
as  to  stop  it." 

Quite  as  well;  and  again  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  to  sub- 
mit to  the  inevitable.  But  she  and  Effie,  to  their  honor 
be  it  said,  suppressed  their  private  opinions  in  consider- 
ation of  the  love  they  bore  to  Bell. 

Captain  Veitch  arranged  that  his  marriage  trip  was 


412  QUIXSTAR. 

to  be  the  voyage  to  Australia  in  the  new  Golden  Hind, 
and  the  wedding  took  place  exactly  a  week  before  the 
sailing  of  that  vessel.  The  marriage-party  was  small, 
being  confined  to  the  immediate  relatives  on  both  sides  ; 
which  was  judicious,  Mrs.  Sinclair  said,  as  the  Veitches 
were  not  too  presentable.  She  had  no  other  feeling 
than  that  Bell  was  throwing  herself  away. 

As  the  gardener  and  his  wife  walked  home  he  said — 
"  I  think,  Jess,  ye'll  allow  that  that's  ae  gude  job 
ower  ?  " 

"  Weel,  Peter,  I  dinna  ken.     I'll  just  hae  twa  folk 
on  my  mind  every  windy  nicht  instead  o'  ane." 


CHAPTER  LX. 

THE  elements  sympathized  with  Captain  Veitch  and 
his  wife — they  had  a  glorious  voyage.  It  was  all  new 
to  Bell,  and  with  her  keen  intellect  and  capacity  for  en- 
joyment, and  her  young  life  still  beaded  with  the  dew 
of  the  morning,  how  could  it  be  otherwise  than  ecstatic, 
her  lover  by  her  side  to  explain  as  far  as  he  could,  and, 
where  he  could  not,  to  bend  with  her  before  the  majesty 
of  the  mystery  ? 

She  kept  an  "  abstract  log,"  whatever  that  may  be, 
and  sometimes  rose  almost  to  poetry  in  her  descriptions 
of  sea  and  sky. 

When  they  doubled  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  they 
thought  with  deep  tenderness  of  him  belonging  to  them 
who  was  lying  there.  Then  they  got  among  the  most 
magnificent  billows  they  had  encountered — the  long 
majestic  roll  of  these  seas,  driven  and  hunted  by  what 
sailors  call  "  the  brave  west  winds,"  and  the  beauty  of 
their  coloring,  was  a  pleasure  given  a  keen  edge  to  by  a 
sense  of  danger.  But  then  the  captain's  wife  had  faith 
strong  and  steady  in  her  husband's  skill,  and  an  admira- 
tion of  it  profound  and  enthusiastic. 

On  the  homeward  voyage  she  was  quite  a  sailor, 
knowing  and  nautical  in  the  extreme,  and  had  learned 
to  understand  her  husband's  passion  for  the  sea,  and  to 
sympathize  with  it,  to  his  infinite  delight.  The  truth  is, 
it  is  probable  that  she  was  of  Norse  descent  as  well  as 


414  QUIXSTAR. 

he.  In  the  fourteenth  century  a  Sinclair  married  the 
representative  of  one  of  the  ancient  Jarls  of  Orkney, 
who,  we  know,  were  Scandinavians  originally.  That 
Sinclair  and  that  Miss  Jarl  must,  to  a  certainty,  have 
been  among  Bell's  ancestors  ;  so  that  there  need  be  no 
surprise  that,  under  favorable  circumstances,  the  old 
tastes  and  tendencies  should  crop  out.  There  was  no 
drop  of  the  JaiTs  blood  in  Effie  or  Tom ;  apparently 
Bell  had  got  all  that  could  be  spared. 

When  Captain  Veitch  and  his  wife  returned  once 
more  to  Quixstar  they  found  Old  Battle  House  prepared 
and  remodelled  for  their  reception.  Mrs.  Sinclair  and 
Effie  were  there  to  greet  and  install  them,  but  they  had 
taken  a  genteel  house  in  a  genteel  quarter  of  Eastburgh, 
wishing  to  mix  more  in  the  society  of  that  city  than 
they  could  do  living  at  the  distance  of  Quixstar,  and 
they  removed  to  it  shortly  after  the  arrival  of  the 
Veitches.  Mr.  Sinclair  had  not  frowned  upon  this  plan. 
There  is  no  doubt  he  was  guilty  of  favoritism,  and  to 
have  Bell  for  an  inmate,  especially  as  he  would  have  her 
so  much  to  himself,  was  an  arrangement  that  remarka- 
bly met  his  feelings  and  tastes.  Miss  Raeburn  rejoiced 
at  it  too.  Bell's  marriage  was  not  such  a  calamity  after 
all,  since  she  was  to  be  in  Quixstar  still,  while  her  hus- 
band would  be  absent  a  great  part  of  the  year.  There 
are  different  points  of  view,  certainly. 

It  was  a  sharper  trial  than  ever  Bell  had  imagined  it 
would  be,  when  Captain  Veitch  went  away  again,  but 
perhaps  these  partings  were  compensated  for  by  the  ap- 
pearance every  now  and  then  of  a  new  honeymoon  in 
the  domestic  heavens,  and  it  is  likely  a  sailor  and  a  sail- 
or's wife  will  be  oftener  at  the  foot  of  God's  throne 
than  other  people. 

Effie  enjoyed  herself  well  in  Eastburgh.     She  went 


QUIXSTAR.  415 

into  what  John  Gilbert  would  have  called  the  pearl- 
plaster  business.  She  fell  back  for  occupation  on  her 
girlish  taste  for  writing,  and  she  wrote  books  that  got 
an  audience.  Some  people  mentioned  the  word  ''  ge- 
nius "  to  her,  and  she  believed,  and  was  pleased ;  and  oth- 
ers said  she  had  "  a  turn  "  for  writing,  and  she  believed, 
and  was  equally  pleased.  Possibly  the  two  words  had 
the  same  meaning  in  all  their  mental  vocabularies. 

She  had  "  a  turn," — that  expression  hit  the  mark. 
The  tone  of  her  books  was  religious  and  genteel.  Re- 
ligion and  gentility  is  a  remarkable  mixture,  but  per- 
haps not  more  so  than  religion  and  worldliness,  or  any 
other  of  its  numerous  debasing  alloys,  but  surely  more 
grotesque :  imagine  the  beatitude,  "  Blessed  are  the 
genteel,  for  they — "  But  the  subject  had  better  be 
dropped,  in  case  of  saying  something  irreverently 
strong.  Erne  had  lived  for  weeks  with  immensity 
stretching  round  her.  She  had  been  rescued  from  a 
burning  ship,  she  had  seen  her  husband's  strong  young 
life  extinguished  by  three  days  of  agony,  and  the  out- 
come was  a  mixture  of  the  religious  and  the  genteel ! 
You  never  can  make  the  stream  rise  higher  than  the 
fountain.  Probably  her  books  did  little  harm.  It  is 
even  within  the  bounds  of  possibility  that  they  did  good 
to  the  people  whose  tastes  they  suited,  you  never  can 
tell;  but  there  was  one  good  thing  they  did.  Mary 
Gilbert  was  visiting  her  Aunt  Raeburn  in  Ironburgh, 
and  she  was  reading  one  day  when  George  came  in. 
When  she  saw  him  she  blushed  vividly,  and  slipped  the 
book  down  into  her  pocket.  He  saw  both  the  blush 
and  the  movement,  and  wondered  what  it  could  mean. 
Was  Mary  the  good  reading  a  book  she  was  ashamed 
of?  It  had  a  bright  green  cover,  he  noticed,  and  after 
she  was  gone  he  had  sufficient  curiosity  to  glance  over 


416  QUIXSTAR. 

the  books,  and  he  found  the  green  cover.  He  opened 
it,-" and  saw  on  the  title-page,  "Rosamond  Fitz-Her- 
bert;  a  Tale.  By  Effie  St.  Clair  Gilbert."  He  red- 
dened in  spite  of  himself  wfth  angry  pride.  "  I  see 
it,"  he  thought,  "  Mary  wanted  to  spai'e  me.  She  need 
not  have  put  herself  to  the  trouble,  but  her  feeling  was 
genuine  at  least,  her  face  showed  that."  He  threw 
down  the  book  with  contempt.  This  led  him  to  think 
of  Mary,  specially  to  think  of  her,  and  the  result  was 
a  marriage — the  most  blessed  event  in  his  life.  It  was 
just  in  time  to  save  him  from  growing  hard,  very  hard. 
She  influenced  him  as  the  sun  does  the  hoar-frost, 
smiling  it  away,  and  melting  by  the  warmth  of  his  at- 
mosphere what  he  can't  reach  with  his  smile. 

Effie  Gilbert  rejoiced  to  hear  of  this  marriage,  it 
cleared  away  entirely  any  little  remaining  remorse  she 
had. 

And  Mrs.  Gilbert  still  sat  in  the  old  familiar  window- 
seat.  The  garden  and  the  flowers  and  the  water  were 
all  there  as  of  old,  but  her  children,  the  pretty  girls  and^ 
the  clever,  handsome  boy, — yes,  they  were  there  too  as 
in  a  dream.  The  future  had  become  the  past,  that 
future  into  which  she  had  so  often  peered  with  longing 
anxiety.  She  still  has  Cowper  on  her  table,  and  be- 
tween the  leaves  of  it  are  her  son's  last  words.  How 
often  she  looks  at  them,  how  often ! 

Bell  admired  her  sister's  books.  It  was  her  one 
weakness — or  strength — to  see  no  fault  in  those  she 
loved.  Her  husband,  she  was  aware,  did  not  share  her 
admiration.  Once  when  she  was  reading  a  contemptu- 
ous notice  of  one  of  Effie's  productions  he  watched  her 
face  gather  into  an  expression  of  grieved  indignant  feel- 
ing, that,  it  must  be  allowed,  amused  him. 

"  I  wish  I  had  written  this  book,"  he  said. 


QUIXSTAB.  417 

"Do  you?  said  she  eagerly.  "You  think  so  much 
of  it.  I  was  sure  the  newspaper  had  made  a  mistake.  It 
must  have  been  some  other  book  they  were  thinking  of 
when  they  wrote  that." 

Peter  smiled.  He  said,  "  If  I  had  seen  about  a  book 
of  mine  such  an  expression  as  was  on  your  face  a  minute 
ago,  it  would  have  made  up  to  me  for  all  the  wicked  re- 
views in  Christendom.  How  do  you  think  '  Mary  Wil- 
son; a  Tale.  By  Mrs.  Peter  Veitch,'  would  take?  I 
much  doubt  the  young  lady  would  eschew  it,  but,  with- 
out a  joke,  I  think  you  should  publish  your  log.  I  al- 
ways grudge  nobody  having  the  enjoyment  of  it  but  a 
trio  like  your  uncle,  Miss  Raeburn  and  myself." 

"  Now,"  said  she,  "  if  you  mean  that,  you  are  just  in 
as  great  a  blunder  about  me  as  you  think  I  am  in  about 
Effie.  Kobedy  would  care  a  pin-point  for  my  log." 

"  I  think  differently,"  said  he. 

After  all,  what  a  thing  love  is  !  Stung  by  the  world, 
we  rush  to  its  shelter  as  lunatics  to  their  padded  room, 
and  there  we  fall  softly,  and  get  healed  of  our  hurts. 
Pity  the  wretches  who  have  no  such  retreat !  Not  that 
this  remark  has  any  bearing  on  Effie  St.  Clair  Gilbert ; 
she  had  lived  in  a  padded  room  all  her  days,  and  con- 
tinued to  do  so. 

Bell  could  not  get  the  flame  of  enthusiasm  to  kindle 
up  in  her  uncle  either  with  regard  to  Effie's  works. 
When  she  introduced  the  subject,  he  had  a  trick  of  go- 
ing off  to  something  quite  foreign  to  it,  as  when  she 
brought  under  his  notice  the  mistaken  review  she  had 
seen,  he  said — 

"  Ay  ! — By  the  way,  when  I  was  out  I  met  that  wo- 
man who  used  to .  be  here,  Maddy — what's  her  name  ? 
Her  child  has  been  ill,  it  seems,  and  I  could  hardly  get 
away  from  her.  She  told  me  how  '  it  grat  and  pu'd  up 
18* 


418  QUIXSTAR. 

its  wee  feetie,'  always  putting  an  emphasis  on  the  wee, 
as  if  the  child  had  two  pairs  of  feet,  and  drew  up  the 
smaller  ones.  She  talks  tremendously,  yon  woman." 

Bell  laughed  heartily  at  her  uncle's  logical  rendering 
of  motherly  endearments,  and  thought,  "  Maddy  must 
have  grown  weak  as  other  women,  and  weaker  than 
some,  or  she  would  hardly  have  entertained  uncle  with 
her  bairn's  ailments." 

And  time  slipped  on  in  Quixstar.  The  Rational  Re- 
laxation Society  continued  its  labors  with  encouraging 
success.  The  hall  was  found  so  generally  useful  that  the 
town  wondered  how  it  had  ever  got  on  without  it.  Mr. 
Kennedy  and  Mr.  Sinclair  made  some  faint  adumbration 
towards  cordiality.  One  wonders  if  people  feel  ashamed 
of  having  quarrelled,  after  the  heat  of  the  occasion  is 
by  ?  But  they  cannot  blot  out  what  has  been  said,  nor 
undo  what  has  been  done ;  they  can't  put  their  feelings 
exactly  where  they  were,  nor  call  in  the  evil  effect  of 
their  deed.  These  men  could  not  prevent  people  in 
Quixstar  saying,  "  Ay,  ministers  are  nae  better  than  oth- 
er folk ;  "  or,  "  Presented  a  hall  to  the  town  !  he  built  it 
to  spite  the  minister.''  Religion  and  philanthropy  don't 
by  any  means  look  at  their  best  under  these  circum- 
stances. But  the  peculiar  blindness  of  the  two  men  be- 
gan to  wear  off.  and  in  time  the  restoration  of  sight  may 
be  complete. 

One  day  Miss  Raeburn  in  passing  went  in  to  call  on 
old  Peter  Veitch  and  his  wife,  and  found  them  engaged 
in  a  way  that  made  them  look  slightly  caught.  Peter 
was  at  one  end  of  the  table  and  Mrs.  Veitch  at  the  oth- 
er; standing  on  a  chair  at  the  side  was  the  heir-appar- 
ent, two  and  a  half  years  old ;  the  gardener  was  sending 
a  hoop — girr,  the  little  Captain  called  it  (he  followed 
his  grandfather's  nomenclature) — along  the  table  to  his 


QUIXSTAR.  419 

wife,  and  she  sent  it  back,  Peter  the  Third  trying  to 
catch  it  as  it  passed.  Which  of  the  three  faces  looked 
most  delighted  could  hardly  be  said.  The  boy  was  in 
extraordinary  glee,  crying,  "  Do  it  'gain,  g'an'pa !  g'an'- 
ma,  do  it  'gain ! "  his  whole  little  person  and  face  in  a 
glow  of  mirth  and  motion. 

"  Miss  Raeburn,  ye'll  think  there's  nae  fules  like  auld 
fules,"  said  Mrs.  Veitch,  by  way  of  apology  for  being 
detected  in  such  high-jinks. 

"  Go  on,  said  Miss  Raeburn ;  go  on.  I  like  to  see 
the  play." 

It  was  a  study  for  an  artist,  and  Miss  Raeburn  was  a 
bit  of  an  artist.  It  touched  her  feelings,  too,  as  a  human 
being  and  a  woman.  As  the  boy's  mother  came  in,  she 
said — 

"  Tibbie,  you  and  I  are  not  needed  here.  Come,  we'll 
take  a  little  walk  and  come  back." 

Bell  kissed  her  son,  which  he  thought  a  most  absurd 
interruption  of  the  business  of  life  he  was  so  intent  on ; 
and  as  Miss  Raeburn  and  she  went  out  at  the  door,  they 
heard  the  ringing  music,  "  Do  it  'gain,  g'an'pa !  " 


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Tomkins,  Queen's  College,  Liverpool. 

3.  BUILDING  CONSTRUCTION.     By  R.  Scott  Burn,  C.E. 

4.  NAVAL  ARCHITECTURE— SHIPBUILDING  AND  LAYING  OFF. 

By  S.  J.  P.  Thearle,  F.R.S.N.A.,  London. 

5.  PURE   MATHEMATICS.     By   Edward   Atkins,   B.Sc.,  (Lond.,) 

Leicester.     2  vols. 

6.  THEORETICAL  MECHANICS.     By  P.  Guthrie  Tail,  Professor 

of  Natural  Philosophy,  Edinburgh. 

7.  APPLIED    MECHANICS.     By    Professor   O.    Reynolds,   Owens 

College,  Manchester. 
S.  ACOUSTICS,  LIGHT  AND  HEAT.     By  W.  S.  Davis,  LL.D., 

Derby, 
y.  MAGNETISM    AND    ELECTRICITY.     By   F.    Guthrie,   B.A., 

Ph.D.,  Royal  School  of  Mines,  London. 

10.  INORGANIC  CHEMISTRY.     By  T.  E.Thorpe,  Ph.D.,  F.R.S.E., 

Professor     of    Chemistry,    Andersonian     University,     Glasgow. 
2  Vols. 

11.  ORGANIC  CHEMISTRY.     By  James  Dewar,  F.R.S.E.,  F.C.S., 

Lecturer  on  Chemistry,  Edinburgh. 

12.  GEOLOGY.     By  John  Young,  M.D.,  Professor  of  Natural  History, 

Glasgow  University. 

14.  ANIMAL  PHYSIOLOGY.     By  J.  Cleland,  M.D.,  F.R.S.,  Professor 

of  Anatomy  and  Physiology,  Galway. 

15.  ZOOLOGY.     By  E.  Ray  Lankester,  M.A.,  (Oxon.,)  London. 

16.  VEGETABLE   ANATOMY   AND    PHYSIOLOGY.     By  J.    H. 

Balfour,  M.D.,  Edinburgh  University. 

17.  SYSTEMATIC  AND  ECONOMIC  BOTANY.     By  J.  H.  Balfour, 

M.D.,  Edinburgh  University. 

19.  METALLURGY.     By  W.  H.  Greenwood,  A.R.S.M.     2  Vols. 

20.  NAVIGATION.     By  Henry  Evers,    LL.D.,  Professor   of  Applied 

Mechanics,  Plymouth. 

21.  NAUTICAL  ASTRONOMY.     By  Henry  Evers,  LL.D.,  Plymouth. 

22.  STEAM  AND  THE  STEAM  ENGINE— LAND,  MARINE,  AND 

LOCOMOTIVE.     By  Henry  Evers,  LL.D.,  Plymouth. 

23.  PHYSICAL  GEOGRAPHY.     By  John  Young,  M.D.,  Professor  of 

Natural  Histoiy,  Glasgow  University. 

No.  22  is  now  ready. 


flutnams'  Series  of  Popular  Manuals. 

**  aV  "      <**    *  ^TOl. 


HALF-HOURS  WITH  THE  MICROSCOPE.   (Shortly.) 
By  EDWIN  LAXKESTER,  M.D.,  F.R.S.     Illustrated  by 
250 -Drawings  from  Nature.     i2mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

"  This  beautiful  little  volume  is  a  very  complete  manual  for  the  amateur  micro- 
scopUr..  *  *  The 'Half-H"urs' are  filled  with  clear  and  agreeable  descriptions,  whilst 
eight  plates,  executed  witH  the  most  beautiful  minuteness  and  sharpness,  exhibit  no 
Itsfs  than  250  objects  with  the  utmost  attainable  distinctness." — Critic. 

HALF-HOURS  WITH  THE  TELESCOPE: 
Being  a  popular  Guide  to  the  Use  of  the  Telescope  as  a 
means  of  Amusement  and  Instruction.     Adapted  to  inexpen- 
sive instruments.     By  R.  A.  PROCTOR,  B.A.,  F.R.A.S.     1 2mo, 
cloth,  with  illustrations  on  stone  and  wood.     Price,  $1.25. 

"  It  is  crammed  with  starry  plates  on  wood  and  stone,  and  among  the  celestial 
phenomena  described  or  figured,  by  far  the  larger  number  may  be  profitably  examined 
with  small  telescopes."— Illustrated  Times. 

HALF-HOURS  WITH  THE  STARS: 
A  Plain  and  Easy  Guide  to  the  Knowledge  of  the  Constel- 
lations, showing  in  12  Maps,  the  Position  of  the  Principal  Star- 
Groups  Night  after  Night  throughout  the  Year,  with  introduc- 
tion and  a  separate  explanation  of  each  Map.  True  for  every 
ifear.  By  RICHARD  A.  PROCTOR,  B.A.-,  F.R.A.S.  Demy 
4to.  Price,  $2.25. 

"Nothing  so  well  calculated  to  give  a  rapid  and  thorough  knowledge  of  the  position 
Of  the  stars  in  the  firmament  has  ever  been  designed  or  published  hitherto.  Mr.  Proctor'B 
'Half-Hours  with  the  Stars'  will  become  a  text-book  in  all  schools,  and  an  invaluable 
*id  to  all  teachers  of  the  young."—  Weekly  Times. 

MANUAL   OF   POPULAR   PHYSIOLOGY: 
Being  an  Attempt  to  Explain  the  Science  of  Life  in 
Untechnical  Language.      By  HENRY  LAWSON,  M.D.      i8mo, 
with  90  Illustrations.     Price,  $1.25. 

Man's  Mechanism,  Life,  Force,  Food,  Digestion,  Respiration,  Heat,  the 
Skin,  the  Kidneys,  Nervous  System,  Organs  of  Sense,  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 

"  Dr  Lawson  has  succeeded  in  rendering  his  manual  amusing  as  well  as  instructive. 
All  the  great  facts  inhuman  physiology  are  presented  to  the  reader  successively ;  and 
either  for  private  reading  or  for  classes,  this  manual  will  he  found  well  adapted  for 
initiating  the  uninformed  into  the  mysteries  of  the  structure  aud  function  of  ineir  own 
bodies."— Athenceum. 

A  DICTIONARY   OF  DERIVATIONS 
Of  the  English  Language,  in  which  each  word  is  traced 
to  its  primary  root.    Forming  a  Text-Book  of  Etymology,  with 
Definitions  and  the  Pronunciation  of  each  word.     i6mo.  $1.00. 

HAND  BOOK   OF   SYNONYMS 

Of  the  English  Language,  with  Definitions,  &c.     i6mo, 
cloth.  $1.00. 

***  These  two  Manuals  are  very  comprehensive  in  a  small  compass 

G,  P,  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  New  York, 


THE    BEST  READING: 


A  CLASSIFIED   BIBLIOGRAPHY   FOR  EASY  REFERENCE, 

WITH 

Hints    on    the    Selection   of    Hooks;    on   the   Formation   of  Libraries* 

Public  and  Private;    on  Courses  of  Heading,  etc.,  a  Guide 

for   the   Librarian,    Sookbuyer   and    Bookseller. 

The  Classified  Lists,  arranged  under  about  I'iOO  subject-headings,  in- 
clude all  the  most  desirable  books  now  to  be  obtained  either  in  Great 
Britain  or  the  United  States,  WITH  THE  PUBLISHED  PRICES  ANNEXED. 
12mo,   Paper,  90  cts.    Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  The  best  work  of  the  kind  we  have  seen." — College  Courant. 

"  We  know  of  no  manual  that  can  take  its  place  as  a  guide  to  the  selector  of  a 
library." — N.  Y.  Independent. 

'Tor  reference  for  the  bookbuyer  it  is  invaluable."— Fort  Wayne  Gazett*. 
u  Supplies  a  need  that  has  long  been  felt." — Lyons  Republican. 

"  The  arrangement  of  the  volume  is  excellent,  and  a  vast  amount  of  time  and  money 
may  be  saved,  and  a  great  deal  of  useless  and  hurtful  trash  may  be  avoided  by  con- 
BuJting  it."— American  Historical  Record. 

XX. 

FOURTH   EDITION. 

"I1THAT    TO    EAT.     A  Manual   for   the   Housekeeper: 

giving  a  Bill  of  Fare  for  every  day  in  the  year. 
134  Pages.     Cloth,  75  ct». 

"  Compact,  suggestive,  and  full  of  good  idea*."—  Many  Housekeepers. 

"  It  can  hardly  fail  to  prove  a  valuable  aid  to  housekeepers  who  are  brought  to  th«i» 
wits'  «nd  to  know  what  to  g«t  for  tha  day's  meals."— San  Francisco  Bulletin. 


III. 

FIFTH  EDITION. 

'TWILL  THE   DOCTOR  COMES ;   AND   How  TO  HELP 
A       HIM.      By   George    H.    Hope,   M.D.      Revised,   with 
Additions,  by  a  New  York  Physician.     *#*  A  Popular  guide 
in  all  cases  of  accident  and  sudden  illness.     i2mo,  99  Pages. 
Cloth,  60  cts. 

"A  most  admirable  treatise ;  short,  concise  and  practical."— Harper's  Monthly. 
(Editorial.) 

"  We  find  this  an  invaluable  little  compendium,  embracing  more  information  of  use 
to  bystanders  in  time  of  sickness  or  accident  than  we  have  ever  seen  put  together 
before.  If  one  will  study  this  small  book  well,  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  follow  its 
directions  carefully,  he  will  often  save  some  poor  fellow's  lile,  when  a  little  delay 
might  cause  its  loss." — Athol  Traruicript. 

"A  perfect  gem  for  the  sick-room,  and  should  be  in  every  family."—  Venango 
Spectator. 

"Indispensable  for  the  household."— Rica  Herald. 

IV. 

THIRD  EDITION. 

O  TIMULANTS  AND  NARCOTICS ;    Medically,  Philo- 
sophically,    and   Morally   Considered.      By  George   M. 
Beard,  M.D.     i2mo,    155  Pages.          Cloth,  75  cts. 

"Dr.  Beard  ha?  given  the  question  of  stimulants  the  first  fair  discussion  in  moderate 
compass,  that  it  has  received  in  this  country.  *  *  *  The  book  should  be  widely 
read."— N.  Y.  Independent. 

"One  of  the  fullest,  fairest  and  best  works  ever  written  on  the  subject."—  Hearth 
and  Home. 

V. 

THIRD  EDITION. 

pATING  AND  DRINKING.  A  Popular  Manual  of 
•L/  Food  and  Diet  in  Health  and  Disease.  By  George  M. 
Beard,  M.D.  i2mo,  1 80  Pages.  Cloth,  75  cts. 

"  W«  can  thoroughly  commend  this  little  book  to  every  one." — N.  T.  Evening  Mail. 
"The  best  manual  upon  the  subject  we  have  seen." — N.  T.  World. 

VI. 

FIFTH  EDITION. 

TTHE  STUDENTS'  OWN  SPEAKER.     By  Paul  Reeves. 
A    Manual   of    Oratory,  comprising    New    Selections, 
Patriotic,  Pathetic,  Grave  and  Humorous,  for  home  use  and 
for  schools.     i2mo,   215  Pages.  Cloth,  90  cts. 

"We  have  never  before  seen  a  collection  so  admirably  adapted  for  its  purpose." 
—  Cincinnati  Chronicle. 

"It  will  be  of  real  service  to  all  young  students  of  the  art  of  oratory."— Portland 
Transcript. 

"  This  it  an  excellent  Speaker."— N.  Y.  World. 


VII. 

HOW  TO  EDUCATE  YOURSELF.    A  complete  Guide 
for  Students,  showing  how  to  study,  what  to  study,  and 
how  and   what  to   read.     It  is,  in  short,  a   "  Pocket  School- 
master."      By   Geo.   Gary  Eggleston    (Editor  Hearth  and 
Home),    izmo,  151  pages,  cloth,  75  cents. 

"  We  write  with  unqualified  enthusiasm  about  this  book,  which  U  ontellably  good 
and  for  good."— N.  T.  Evening  Mail. 
"We  cordially  commend  this  work."— N.  Y.  School  Journal. 

VIII. 

SOCIAL    ECONOMY.       By    Prof.   E.    Thorold    Rogers 
(Tooke   Professor  of  Economic  Science,   Oxford,  Eng- 
land), Editor  of  "  Smith's  Wealth  of  Nations."     Revised  and 
edited  for  American  Readers. 

This  little  volume  gives  in  the  compass  of  150  pages,  concise  yet  compre- 
hensive answers  to  the  most  important  questions  of  Social  Economy.  The 
book,  from  its  simplicity  and  the  excellence  of  its  instruction,  is  especially 
adapted  for  use  in  schools,  while  the  information  it  contains  is  of  value  and 
interest  to  all  classes  of  readers.  I2mo,  167  pages,  cloth,  75  cents. 

"We  cannot  too  highly  recommend  this  work  for  teachers,  students  and  the  general 
public.3'— American  Athenaeum. 

IX. 
TTINTS  ON  DRESS.     By  an  American  Woman. 

COTS'TTCNTS: 

OUTLINE  HISTOBT  OP  DRESS.  ECONOMY  AND  TASTE. 

THINGS  INDISPENE  IBLE.  WHAT  WE  MEAN  BY  DBKRSINO  Wnx. 

ESTIMATES  OF  COST.  COLOR,  FORM,  SUITABILITY. 

How  AND  WHAT  TO  BUY. 

I2mo,  124  pages,  cloth,  75  cents. 

"  This  little  volume  contains  as  much  good  sense  as  could  well  be  crowded  into  Ite 
pages."— N.  T.  Mail. 

X.  * 

THE  HOME.  WHERE  IT  SHOULD  BE,  AND  WHAT  TO 
PUT  IN  IT.  Containing  hints  for  the  selection  of  a 
Home,  its  Furniture  and  internal  arrangements,  with  carefully 
prepared  price  lists  of  nearly  everything  needed  by  a  house- 
keeper, and  numerous  valuable  suggestions  for  saving  money 
and  gaining  comfort.  By  FRANK  R.  STOCKTON  (ofScrtbner's 
Monthly).  i2mo,  182  pages,  cloth,  75  cents. 

"  Young  housekeepers  will  be  especially  benefited,  and  all  housekeepers  may  learn 
much  from  this  book." — Albany  Journal. 


THE   MOTHER'S  WORK  WITH  SICK  CHILDREN. 
By  Prof.  J.  B.  FONSSAGRIVES,    M.D.     Translated   and 
edited  by  F.  P.  Foster,  M.  D.     A  volume  full  of  the  most  prac- 
tical advice  and  suggestions  for  Mothers  and  Nurses.     i2mo, 
244  pages,  cloth,  $1.25. 

"  A  volume  which  should  be  in  th«  hands  of  every  mother  in  the  land."— Binghamp- 
ton  Herald. 


4  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS'  PUBLICATIONS. 

~T~)LANCHE.      The  Bandit.     By  August  Blanche.     Translated  from  the 
I    J     Swedish   by  Selma   Borg    and    Maria    A.    Brown.      8vo,    paper,    $i  ; 
cloth,  $1.50. 

BLINDPITS.     A  Novel     (Reprinted  by  special  arrangement  with  the 
Edinburgh  publishers.)     One  vol.  I2mo,  $1.75. 
***  A  delightful  story,  which  everybody  will  like. 

"The  book  indicates  more  than  ordinary  genius,  and  we  recommend  it  unreservedly." 
—  Buffalo  Courier. 

BOLTE  (AMELY).     Madame  de  Stael  :  A  Historical  Novel.    Trans- 
lated from  the  German  by  Theo.  Johnson.     l6mo,  cloth  extra,  $1.50. 

"  One  of  the  best  historical  novels  which  has  appeared  for  a  long  time."  —  Illustrated 
Zeitunff. 

"Worthy  of  its  great  subject."  —  Famttien-  Journal. 

"Every  chapter  brings  the  reader  in  contact  with  eminent  personages,  and  entertains 
him  in  the  most  agreeable  and  profitable  manner."  —  Europa. 

"  This  is  one  of  those  valuable  novels  that  combine  historical  and  biographical  infor- 
mation with  amusement."  —  Cincinnati  Chronicle. 


HOMESTEAD  BOOK     Illustrated  by  J.  A.  Hows.     Small 
\j     folio,  cloth  extra,  $6  ;  morocco  extra,  §10. 

~TP)RYCE.     The  Student's  Atlas  of  Physical  Geography.     Consisting 
|    )     of  twenty  Maps  with  descriptive  letter-press,  illustrated  with  numerous 
engravings.     Edited  by  John  Bryce  :  Glasgow  and  New  York.     Imp.  8vo,  cloth 
extra,  $2.25. 


AMFBELL.  Thomas  Campbell's  Poetical  Works.  First  complete 
V  __  '  edition,  with  a  copious  Life  of  Campbell  (100  pages),  by  Epes  Sargeant. 
With  portrait,  I2mo,  pp.  479,  cloth  extra,  $2  ;  extra  gilt  edges,  $2.50  ;  half  calf, 
$4  ;  morocco  extra,  $6. 

CAVE.     The  Cave  Method  of  Learning   to   Draw  from   Memory. 
By  Madame  E.  Cave.     From  fourth  Parisian  edition.     I2mo,  cloth,  $i. 

'•  This  is  the  only  method  of  drawing  which  really  teaches  anything.  In  publishing  the 
remarkable  treatise,  in  which  she  unfolds,  with  surprising  interest,  the  results  of  her 
observations  upon  the  teaching  of  drawing,  and  the  ingenious  methods  she  applies,  Madame 
Cave  .  .  .  renders  invaluable  service  to  alfwho  have  marked  out  for  themselves  a  career  of 
Art."—  Extract  from  a  long  review  in  the  Revue  des  Deux  Afondes,  written  by  Delacroix. 

"It  is  interesting  and  valuable."  —  D.  HPNTTNGTON.  Pres.  Nat.  Acad. 

"  Should  be  used  by  every  Teacher  of  Drawing  in  America."  —  City  Item,  P/iUa. 

"  We  wish  that  Madame  Cave  had  published  this  work  half  a  century  ago,  that  we 
might  have  been  instructed  in  this  enviable  accomplishment."  —  Harper's  Magazine. 

-  The  Method  of  Teaching  Color.     i2mo,  cloth,  $i. 

This  work  was  referred,  by  the  French  Minister  of  Public  Instruction,  to  a  commis- 
sion of  ten  eminent  artists  and  officials,  whose  report,  written  by  M.  Delacroix,  was 
unanimously  adopted,  endorsing  and  approving  the  work.  The  Minister,  thereupon,  by  a 
decree,  authorized  the  use  of  it  In  the  French  Normal  Schools. 


UCSB    LIBRARY 


